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Good-Times Girls. Frontispiece. 




/ 


THE 


°no 

tT> 


Gfood-'fin^es Girls. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF 


THE BLUE-BADGE BOYS,” 11 READY AND WILLING,” “ 


UP TO THE 


MARK.” ETC. 





AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY , 


150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 


I > 
> 

.» ) ) 




A 



COPYRIGHT, 1884, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 




2 W/ 








V 

/ v> 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Poppies 9 

CHAPTER II. 

Hammock-Swinging 22 

CHAPTER III. 

Mysie’s Porch 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

Lilies 49 

CHAPTER V. 

Midge and the Cashmere Shawl 62 

CHAPTER VI. 

Easy-Chairs . 71 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Bon March6 7 $ 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Bee Hathaway’s 88 

CHAPTER IX. 

Over Mt. Holly 

CHAPTER X. 

Midge’s Surprise Party 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Evil News I2 g 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Holiday for the Mill-hands j 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Pleading with Squire Mountford I43 

* CHAPTER XIV. 

At the Marston House 

CHAPTER XV. 

Shall there be a Club? 163 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Bees about Beatrice 173 

CHAPTER XVII. 

For a Year at Least 181 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Landry Road Cottage 198 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Working or Pleasing 208 

CHAPTER XX. 

Midge in Miss Beatrice’s Room 214 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Idea Finding Shape at Last 223 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Room that did not Look Well 238 


CONTENTS. 


5 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Really a Club . . . . . . .250 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Club’s First “Good Time” . . . . • . . . 269 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Planning. ........... 279 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Violet . . • . * . . .288 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Little Red Flag . . . . ... . . . 299 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Club on the Top Wave 304 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

“The Pinch-Off Purse” . 316 

CHAPTER XXX. 

F6r Whose Sake? . . • . 326 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

An Unwelcome Visitor „. .. * . . 337 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

More Work for the Club . . . * . . * . * . . 350 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Questions and Hospital-Books . . . *. . . 358 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Sunset Clouds 373 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Best “ Good Time ” 377 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Myrtle’s Window 380 


Channels 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Famous Plans 404 


What Motto ? . 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“ Sister Rhodes ” 

CHAPTER XL. 

417 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The Almshouse Sitting-room 424 

CHAPTER XLII. 

An Accident in the Mills 432 


Midge and Mysie 

CHAPTER XLIII. 1 

437 

No Secrets . 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

• • • • 444 

At Last . 

CHAPTER XLV. 

Silver Cups . 

The Palace Gates 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

459 

CHAPTER XLVII. 
464 


The Palace Gates 


“THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS.” 


“The Good-Times Girls” were a club. 

If there is any reason why girls should n’t get up a 
club, and enjoy it as well as boys or men, they had n’t 
heard of it. They did everything, or rather anything, 
that came up, from trimming a bonnet out of “the 
scrap drawer,” to setting up greenhouses and giving 
readings in the poorhouse. 

They met once a week, and never had long enough, 
to stay; worked like a combination of beaver and 
butterfly, and “had perfectly glorious good times.” 
The original members were “Bee” Hathaway and 
Barbie, or Barbara, or “ Bab,” Vandyke, Fanny Stacy 
and May Llewellyn, Helen Fortescue, “Moppet” Liv- 
ingston, and Rose Weeks ; but there were always more 
girls outside clamoring to be let in, and their numbers 
swelled until it was necessary to shut the gates relent- 
lessly down. 

As for the place where their “good times” were 
enjoyed, and the people they had them with and for, 
the first few chapters will serve to introduce and ex- 
plain; while their schemes and plans, and the doings 
that carried them out, the succeeding pages are left to 
chronicle, though modestly fearing lest they may not 
tell the half. 

Their “Northfield” is the same where the “Blue- 
Badge Boys” flourished and worked, but there was 
room enough for both ; and as no comet was ever known 
to run into another’s train, so the “ Good-Times Girls ” 
and “ Comfortable Club ” went each peacefully on its 
own way- 


‘Freely Thou givest, and Thy word 
Is, ‘Freely give.’ 

He only who forgets to hoard 
Has learned to live.” 


“ No cup, however small, can bear 
Cold water in His name, 

That wealth and gladness do not fill 
The giver’s hand again.” 


THE 


GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER I. 

POPPIES. 

“Poppies !” 

Poppies are a brilliant flower, but their deepest 
dye hasn’t a more vivid burn than the scorn of 
the tone that spoke. 

Not that the scorn meant “poppies” them- 
selves; it only aimed a shot at some one who had 
called the wrong flower by their name. 

“I knew somebody that called a peacock a 
turkey once,” went on the voice. “Might just 
as well.” An amused, rather pleased laugh an- 
swered the withering words. 

“Might they now, Midge?” asked a steady 
manly voice, a sudden contrast to the well-modu- 
lated little one that had said “Poppies” just 
before. 

“Yes, they might, Jim,” and a pair of light 


IO THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

brown eyes, that had helped send the lecture 
home, turned from Jim’s face for another look 
through the hedge standing between Midge and 
the mass of flowers beyond. 

It was rather a stately house that the hedge 
enclosed from the street, and one that was sure of 
a glance at least from every passer-by. In winter 
it rose like a gray castle behind the fret-work and 
goblin tracery of the great sweeping elm that 
towered from the lower portion of the lawn ; and 
in summer the lawn itself lay in thickest vel- 
vet over the slope at the summit of which the 
house was built. Then the old elm turned into a 
giant bower, and only gave glimpses of the castle 
walls through its swaying boughs; and the foun- 
tain, that had stood all winter bound in fantas- 
tic ropes of ice, tossed its shower of spray again, 
and flowers gleamed here and there in the par- 
terres. 

“What may they be then, Midge, if they 
can’t be poppies?” asked Jim again. 

Midge finished her long, slow look at the mass 
of green leaves over which drooped great heads 
of pink hydrangea just coming into bloom, and 
then turning her eyes back to Jim, answered with 
an unsatisfied shake of her head. 

“Don’t know? Now it isn’t you, Midge, 
setting up to tell me that ! I thought you knew 


POPPIES. 


II 


every flower that ever had a stalk. You’ve 
taught me heart’ s-eases and spirea and — ” 

“Hush!” interrupted Midge, with a gesture 
of her brown little hand. “Don’t you see this 
is something different? It’s something new. I 
never saw it before. But I ’d rather have it 
than — ’ ’ 

Midge stopped, drew a quick breath, and re- 
flected. 

“Rather than to live half my life,” she said 
at last, fixing her brown eyes on the great black 
ones under Jim’s hat, and then adding hastily, 
“That is to say, if it wasn’t for you, Jim.” 

The big strong heart that was pumping away 
under Jim’s working blouse felt a sudden pang. 

“Oh, come along, Midge,” he said hurried- 
ly, catching her hand in his own great spread 
of sinew and bone. “What’s the reason some 
folks are rich and others poor, I ’d like to know? 
Come, let’s be getting home.” 

Midge started and looked anxiously into his 
face. 

“ Now I never thought of your taking it that 
way, Jim. I never once thought of it,” she said. 
“I like ’em just as well where they are. I can 
look and look, and it ’s just as good as if I called 
’em mine.” 

“No, it isn’t,” answered Jim fiercely, with a 


12 the good-times girls. 

grip on Midge’s hand that almost made her start; 
and then with a loosening of it and a sudden drop- 
ping to a tender tone, “you’d like to have ’em 
for your own, Midge, or more of the same, and 
I’d like to give ’em to you. But I can’t, and 
that ’s all that ’s to be said. So, if you ’ ve looked 
all you like, we ’ll go.” 

Midge took a step forward and then suddenly 
stopped again. A clattering of hoofs was heard 
on the driveway leading from the stable in the 
rear of the house, and a groom came in sight, 
grasping a shining saddle-horse by the bit with 
each hand, and bracing himself against the push 
of the two as they pranced and curveted towards 
the door. 

Midge caught her breath again in a queer lit- 
tle way that she had. “That’s her horse!” she 
whispered excitedly. “She’s going out. I’m 
just here in time to see.” 

She seemed to have forgotten Jim, and stood 
with her small brown nose almost pricked against 
the thorns of the thickset hedge. 

Jim looked too, but his face grew dark, his 
brows contracted, and pressed down heavily over 
his eyes. “ Yes ; I know the horses well enough, ’ ’ 
he was saying to himself. “ I ’ve seen Marston 
and his daughter riding before now. What ’s the 
difference betwixt him and me, I’d like to ask? 


POPPIES. 


*3 


I ’ ve done more work with my little finger in my 
life than he’s done with his whole body in his; 
and he can give silks and finery to his child, and 
I can’t give a flower that she’s longing for to 
mine. And it’s my work that’s made some of 
his money for him too. I’mas good a workman 
as his mills ever saw, and what would he do for 
this little crooked thing of mine if she were star- 
ving?” 

The house-door opened. Yes, it was Mr. 
Marston — u Mars ton of the Mills,” the working 
people of Northfield called him a good deal; and 
there was Miss Marston — Miss Beatrice — he was 
holding the door open for her to pass. 

Her golden hair was knotted under her high- 
crowned hat, the skirt of her riding-habit was 
thrown over her arm, she placed a foot that 
seemed to Midge no foot at all in her father’s 
hand, and sprang to her seat with a light laugh. 
She took the rein in a slender gauntleted hand; 
Midge wondered if such a hand could hold any- 
thing, and whether her swaying figure were more 
or less than only flesh and blood. 

Midge turned to Jim again with a flush under 
her own brown skin. 

“Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you ever 
saw in this world before?” she asked in a half 
whisper, as her eyes met Jim’s. 


14 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


“ No, she is n’t,” answered Jim, with the same 
tone he had used when he gripped Midge’s hand; 
“I’d rather see you than her, any day.” 

Midge started and turned her head involun- 
tarily, as if she could have looked over her shoul- 
der and seen her own back. 

Jim caught the look, and his tone dropped 
again into one even gentler than when he had 
been talking of the flowers. 

“If you were to be straight, Midge, that is to 
say. Not that your shoulders are like hers, but 
what difference is that? Your eyes have got more 
soul in ’em, I’ll warrant; and as to your face, 
God never made one that ’s so fair to me. Come, 
Midge; let’s get home, I say.” 

The horses swept past them. Mr. Marston’s 
required all his attention to restrain its first impa- 
tience, but he caught sight of Jim, and nodded to 
him as he passed. 

Jim answered with a half pull at his hat, and 
strode on, one hand keeping Midge’s with a close- 
shut hold that made her look wonderingly up at 
him now and then, while his dinner-pail swung 
with the swiftness of his step in the other. 

Midge had carried his dinner to the mill. She 
often did that, and as often went down to meet 
him at quitting- time, as six o’clock was called. 
Ordinarily they made their way by side-streets 


POPPIES. 


*5 


that skirted the town and led past shops and 
shabby tenements, for Jim thought only of get- 
ting home by the fewest strides possible when 
once the day’s work was done. But to-night an 
errand had taken him a different way, and Midge 
rejoiced secretly, for a day that gave her a look at 
“the Marston place” always got a white mark 
in her calendar. 

It was a poor, out-of-shape little body that 
Midge was pent up in, one shoulder standing 
with a queer twist high above its mate; so little 
that, though past thirteen, she would easily have 
been mistaken for ten. But the balance seemed 
to have been made up by the soul that had been 
put inside. Nobody had such a way of delight- 
ing in things, small or great, as Midge ; and as 
for flowers, the world was large enough and full 
enough for her when it offered her a bouquet. 

Whole bouquets, it is true, even humble ones, 
did not often come in her way; but there was al- 
most always a single stalk of some kind, and a 
single stalk could make joy enough for a day. 

Jim had been in the way of watching her with 
them, half amused and half trying to please her 
by thinking them wonderful too; but to-night a 
strange new feeling had seized upon him as she 
stood riveted by the hedge, a sudden sense that 
Midge’s life might hold a hundred times more 


1 6 the good-times girls. 

than it had, and then a sudden stab of regret that 
it must go on very nearly as it was for aught he 
should ever be able to do. 

“Why can’t I give the child things? Why 
can’ 1 1 get rich like another man ? What is there 
to Marston’s daughter more than to mine, if, as I 
was saying, Midge’s shoulders could have been 
left as straight? She’s grown a young woman, 
and Midge hasn’t, not yet; but I’ll be no better 
off when she has. I work for him, and he puts 
the money in his pocket. Where ’s the right of 
that?” 

Midge didn’t know what to make of Jim that 
night. Sometimes he looked wistfully into her 
face, and sometimes his eyebrows came down over 
his eyes in that heavy, shadowy way she had 
never seen before. 

They had only two rooms and a boarding- 
house supper to go to, but after supper Midge 
always had Jim to herself; that was the thing 
above all others that made life seem what it did. 
Flowers were the best part of it all, “Jim,” as 
she always called him, not being considered, but 
Jim came first. 

“That’s what I want her to call me,” Jim 
had said when Midge was first learning to say 
anything at all. “ ‘Father’ ’d be all well enough 
if <she had mother and sister and brother too, as 


POPPIES. 


17 


the luckier ones have; but since the hord has or- 
dered it that I ’ve to take the place of all, I don’t 
want her calling me by a name that might mean 
I was only one. ’ ’ 

But this evening things would not seem just 
as usual. Midge could n’t tell why. She had her 
chair close by Jim’s, and they sat looking at the 
strip of sunset sky that the painter’s shop, a little 
way down the street, stood just low enough to let 
them see. The sunset had a more gorgeous glow 
than usual; it lay in bars of purple and red, the 
air was soft and pleasant, and Midge’s little 
bunch of mignonette in the foot-square of soft 
earth under the window had started up in a spasm 
of fresh bloom after a rain. 

So it must be Jim; there was nothing the mat- 
ter with anything else. 

“Yes, it must be you, Jim,” she said at last, 
with her eyes fixed full on his. 

“What must?” 

“That’s so queer to-night. Is anything the 
matter, Jim?” 

Jim looked back hastily into her face, and then 
gave a little half-embarrassed laugh. 

“I didn’t know as there was anything, 
Midge. Nothing as I meant you to see, at least ; 
but you’re such a sharp-sighted little one! It 
was only about the flowers up there, Midge. It 


Good-Times Girl*. 


2 


l8 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

went against me that I couldn’t give you such, 
and other things besides. Not that I mightn’t 
buy a root or a plant now and then,” he went 
on thoughtfully, as if making up some kind of 
reckoning with himself. u I might manage such 
a matter as that, but ’t would be the place to keep 
’em, and the way to do it, that would have to 
come next. There ’s a hundred things you ought 
to have, and I’m afraid you’ll never get them 
from me. Not that I don’t work hard enough 
for it; and there must be something wrong.” 

Midge broke into a merry little laugh. 

Jim started and looked pleased. There was 
nothing in the world that he thought more of 
than that laugh of Midge’s, but somehow he had 
not been looking for it just then. 

“Yes; there must be something wrong, Jim,” 
she said, “and that is, you’re worrying yourself 
where there is no need. Didn’t I tell you I like 
seeing things as well as having them?” 

“But you don’t,” said Jim. “You can’t. 
You ought to have them.” 

“But I’ve got enough, Jim. I’ve got 
enough, with you and what you give me. I do 
not need things rich folks have. ’ ’ 

“But your soul does, ’ ’ persisted J im. ‘ £ Your 
soul ’s made for them, and it ought to have 
them.” 


POPPIES. 


19 


“Ought it?” asked Midge, with a half- won- 
dering look back at Jim. “Well, if it needs 
them, it’ll have them some day. It isn’t as if 
everything had to come at once. There is time 
enough. ’ ’ 

Jim looked worried again. “Time enough if 
I could make more use of it. You or I may 
be dead, Midge, before I ’m richer than I am.” 

“Well, then we’ll be sure to have every- 
thing. I guess nobody need be poor after he gets 
to the King’s country ! How it would look ! 
Come, Jim, let ’s sing. I know a song that ’s just 
right;” and Midge broke out with her low, clear 
voice, that Jim privately thought was one of the 
gifts sent “to make up,” 

‘“O mother dear, Jerusalem, 

When shall I come to thee ? 

When shall my sorrows have an end ? 

Thy joys when shall I see? 

Thy joys when shall I see ? 

“‘Thy walls are made of precious stones, 

Thy bulwarks diamonds square ; 

Thy gates are of right Orierit pearl, 

Exceeding rich and rare ; 

Exceeding rich and rare. 

“ ‘ And there they live in such delight, 

Such pleasure and such play, 

As that to them a thousand years 
Doth seem as yesterday ! 

Doth seem as yesterday ! 


20 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“ * Thy gardens and thy gallant walks 
Continually are green ; 

There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 
As nowhere else are seen ; 

As nowhere else are seen. 

“‘Jerusalem, my happy home, 

Would God I were in thee ! 

When shall my sorrows have an end ? 

Thy joys when shall I see? 

Thy joys when shall I see?’ ” 

When Midge’s voice quavered on the little 
shake that divided the last “sha-11,” Jim laughed. 
“Are you in such a hurry, Midge ?” he asked. 

“ I should be if you was gone. But it ’s nice, 
isn’t it? Only I haven’t got any ‘woes.’ But 
that’s no matter. You like it, don’t you, Jim?” 

“Yes,” answered Jim a little doubtfully; 
“only I ’d like to have things right here, as well 
as there. I can’t make it out why some folks 
have it hard and others do n’t.” 

“Who don’t?” 

“Rich folks,” answered Jim, half ready to get 
fierce again, but with the echo of the hymn some- 
how smoothing him down. “There’s Marston 
now,” he went on. “He’s got where he can 
give that girl of his everything, and he’s never 
worked a day. I ’ve got more brawn and sinew, 
and use them more, than a thousand like him.” 

“Perhaps it’s brains that makes the differ- 


POPPIES. 


21 


ence,” said Midge reflectively. “ I heard some 
one say it’s brains that tell in this world.” 

Jim started again, and took a long, slow look 
in her face. 

“You’re a queer one, Midge. But I guess 
you’ve hit it,” he said, with a short, quick 
laugh. “ But that would n’t be a reason he need 
trample on a man that hasn’t got them, for all 
that. ’ ’ 

“Didn’t he give you a ‘ how-d’-ye-do ’ when 
he went by to-night?” 

“Yes; a bone thrown to a dog ! What would 
he care if you were wanting a thousand things, 
or I either, as far as that may go?” 

“ He would, now I ’ll warrant he would,” an- 
swered Meg, rousing up. “That is to say, if we 
wanted him to; but we’d rather take care of 
ourselves. Come, Jim ; let ’s sing again. Both 
of us together this time. Come !” 


22 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER II. 

HAMMOCK-SWINGING. 

The riders after whom Midge had gazed with 
such worshipful eyes had passed rapidly out of 
sight, disappearing just under an avenue of trees 
that arched the roadway as it swept out of town ; 
and then, just as Midge had hurried up to that, 
vanishing round a corner and far away. 

Midge had followed with a look sharpened to 
its utmost reach through screwed little eyelids, 
never wavering from Miss Marston’s horse until 
it had become a speck, and then not even a speck 
at last. 

Midge had thought Miss Marston’s cheek like 
a lily, but the color was coming up into it now 
with a glow. 

“To think of my getting you fairly off at 
last!” she said, as she turned her eyes, brilliant 
with pleasure, upon her father’s face. “How 
many weeks have I had to beg? Those old mills 
drag you in and shut their doors on you till it 
really seems to me, sometimes, they are trying to 
devour you as they do the iron and brass they 
swallow up.” 


HAMMOCK-SWINGING. 2j 

“ Marston of the Mills’’ looked back into the 
eyes that were turned laughingly to his. 

“She is the most beautiful thing God ever 
made !” he was saying proudly to himself. 

How he would have laughed if he had known 
Jim had just said the very same thing about that 
crooked little creature they had passed. 

No, the mills did not devour him, they only 
shut him up like a slave; but it was worth a 
good many years of slavery to ride by her side 
an hour, and know the world did not hold a 
pleasure he could not buy for her to-day. 

“Papa, you haven’t answered me,” said 
Beatrice again, with a playful gesture of reproof 
with the gauntleted hand Midge had thought 
such a wonder of grace. “And oh, who was 
that man you nodded to, just as we were starting 
off?” 

‘ ‘ That man ? That was one of the mill-hands. 
Jim Burlock is his name. What makes you 
think of him?” 

“I don’t know, except that it doesn’t seem 
to me life can be so very pleasant made up of a 
blouse and a dinner-pail. I wish I could do some- 
thing for such people. ’ ’ 

“You? That’s my affair. I keep him pro- 
vided with work and wages, and that’s all he 
wants.” 


24 THE good-times girds. 

“But that child he had with him. I could n’t 
really see, but — wasn’t there something wrong? 
Wasn’t she — ?” 

“What? that crooked little goblin? His 
daughter, I suppose. At least I ’ve seen her and 
his dinner-pail together a good many times. 
There’s no need of worrying about such people 
as those. Jim Burlock ’s a luckier fellow than I. 
He only works with his bones. His brain has 
nothing to do. If I could get one day in the year 
as free of care as the three hundred and sixty-five 
are to him, I should think myself rich.” 

Beatrice looked at him with perplexed eyes. 

“O papa! But that poor child; I’m sure 
there must be something that could be done. ’ ’ 

“What, straighten her out? No, no. If the 
Lord has chosen to make you straight and her 
crooked, it isn’t best to interfere. I ’ll give Jim 
a five-dollar bill for her when Christmas comes, 
but meantime I wont have her making a shadow 
in your way. There’s no use. She’s as happy 
as a butterfly, ten to one. Come. This is our 
ride, remember.” 

Miss Marston roused herself, gave him a gay 
look, and they were gone at last. Midge’s ut- 
most screw couldn’t give her eyes reach enough 
to follow them another rod. 

There was another pair, however, that kept 


HAMMOCK-SWINGING. 


25 


up tlie chase a little longer, for the “Llewellyn 
house” from the garden of which their watch 
was set up, stood an eighth of a mile farther down 
the road. 

The Llewellyn house was another of the halt- 
ing places where Midge had delicious times. 
There was no hedge in front of it, only a thickly- 
woven wire fence; but this was quite screen 
enough for Midge to stand behind while she 
drank stolen delights. 

Indeed, Midge was so little in the way of 
thinking of herself at all that she did n’ t dream 
of such a thing as any one’s noticing her. The 
world was full of delights, and she stumbled upon 
them at every turn. ‘ 1 That was all there was of 
it, ’ ’ as she used to say. 

Just at this particular point, at the wire 
fence of the Llewellyn house, was the sight of a 
hammock, slung between two great shadowy 
evergreens, that pinned Midge fast whenever she 
trie'd to go by. Sometimes it was empty, some- 
times a figure lay half hidden in its folds; but 
whichever way it was, Midge couldn’t go by. 

“ She ’s just about as old as I am, that Llewel- 
lyn girl,” she used to reflect between little nods at 
the fence. ‘ ‘ How she swings and reads — swings 
and reads. I like to see her. I wonder if it’s 
like sailing away and away? I should think 


26 THIS GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

she’d dream. She must dream. No, she don’t. 
She keeps turning the pages over. It’s queer, I 
think.” 

But this time, as the clattering of hoofs drew 
near, the book had dropped with its page only 
half turned. Its reader sprang to her elbow, and 
then caught the edge of the hammock for a good 
look over the side. 

“It’s she! It’s she!” cried May Llewellyn, 
as Miss Marston’s horse came in sight. “It’s 
her own beautiful very self. And I know the 
beautiful very place she’s going to, too;” and 
the book tumbled over the side of the hammock, 
quite to the ground, as its holder made a spring 
towards a mysterious little pocket and snatched 
forth a handkerchief from its depths. The hand- 
kerchief fluttered a salute, which was answered 
by a smile, and a wave of Miss Marston’s hand. 

A figure in an odd-looking smoking jacket 
and scarlet-tasselled Fez cap, sat leisurely reading 
close by. He turned in the rustic garden-seat, 
that was another of Midge’s delights, and lifted a 
slow, careless look at the horses pushing by. 

“Humph,” letting his glance sweep over 
May’s excited face, as he brought it quietly back, 
“any girl would look well with a mount like 
that. There is n’t another such piece of perfec- 
tion in the way of a horse in the State. I didn’t 


HAMMOCK-SWINGING. 


27 


see that its head pointed to any particular road, 
however. You must have some especial divining 
power to be so sure of the way it will choose. ’ ’ 

“Any girl?” repeated May, with half horror- 
stricken, half flashing eyes. ‘ ( U ncle J ack ! How 
can you — how almost dare you — speak of Miss 
Marston like that !” 

Uncle Jack laughed a short provoking little 
laugh, and turned to his book again. May gazed 
at him in an undecided way for a moment or two, 
and then picking up her own, and leaning back 
in her hammock with a gasp that might have 
been a sigh or might have been a laugh, looked 
for her lost page. 

But the page when it was found didn’t seem 
to claim her whole attention as it had a few 
moments before. Her eyes followed a few lines 
only to turn and flash a look over at Uncle Jack, 
then a few lines more, and another look. 

“Sometimes I do just wish you wouldn’t be 
quite so queer, though,” she broke forth at last, 
with one more specially piercing glance at the 
garden-seat. 

“Queer? How am I queer?” asked Uncle 
Jack, lifting his own eyes with the most inno- 
cent, inquiring look. 

“Why, you— I— why, you must know, Uncle 
Jack. I really do n’t like to explain it myself.” 


28 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

“ Upon my honor, I haven’t the least idea.” 

“ But people can’t be queer without knowing 
it, of course. ’ ’ 

“That’s precisely and particularly the queer 
part of it; so I shall never know, if you wont be 
obliging enough to tell me.” 

“Well, then, you are so very, actually nice, 
but you do like to pretend to be so — horrid.” 

A droll, amused smile pulled at the corners of 
Uncle Jack’s moustache, but he looked solemnly 
over the top of his book as he turned a leaf. 

“Thank you. I’m glad to know. But that 
doesn’t explain how you could divine the road 
Miss Marston meant to take. You’re not gifted 
with second sight, I suppose. ’ ’ 

“ I do n’t know what that is; but she told me, 
Uncle Jack. She promised, and there are two 
more promises hanging on the first one, too. ’ ’ 

£ ‘ Two and one are three. Do n’ t be afraid of 
my calling her by any name you don’t like, after 
this. I shall never think of anything less than a 
princess, if she can shower promises about in that 
fashion. You could n’t repeat any of them to an 
unworthy fellow like me, I suppose ?’ ’ 

May gave him another pulled look. 

“I could, if you really cared, Uncle Jack. 
But if you only want to make fun of it — ” 

Uncle Jack’s moustache went down at the 


HAMMOCK-SWINGING. 29 

corners again, but his eyes were as solemn as 
before. 

‘ ‘ I really care. I shall be miserable until I 
know all about it” 

“Well, then, she’s going to ride through the 
Uandry Woods, all the way through, and out by 
the Rustling Bower. Somewhere on the way 
there’s a fern-bed; there are ferns all along, but 
there’s maiden’s hair and everything just there; 
and she’s going to mark the place, and to-mor- 
row she ’s going to send her man Thorne out, and 
water to keep them fresh, and have him bring in 
just a pile .” 

Uncle Jack had laid down his book, and was 
using his long fingers for a count. 

‘ ‘ Going through the Rustling Bower, marking 
the place, sending Thorne out, ordering home 1 1 a 
pile” — four promises already. I thought there 
were but three. ’ ’ 

“Pour! I don’t like to say so, Uncle Jack, 
but really you do seem so stupid sometimes. It’s 
just one to mark the place, and one to send 
Thorne, and one more that I have n’ t told you 
yet. I ’d rather tell you that, though, without 
waiting for you to ask questions — you do get 
things so mixed up. We have flowers in church 
every Sunday; you do know that, don’t you?” 

Uncle Jack pushed back his fez with one 


30 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

hand, and slipped the other into his breast-pocket 
with a reflective air, and at last responded, 

“I remember. Go on, please. They don’t 
grow there, I suppose?” 

“Of course they do n’t. And it ’s lots of trou- 
ble, because they all have to be brought and put 
fust where they ought to be, and every particular 
stem has to reach the water, besides. But some 
one has it to do every week, and she chooses an 
assistant, and they choose some one for the next 
week again, and so on. And next Sunday is 
Miss Marston’s turn, and she has chosen me, and 
I — I, Uncle Jack, am to go with her and help her 
and see all the lovely things she does, and be 
close by her side while she does them, too. ’ ’ 

Uncle Jack’s fez came slowly back towards 
his eyes, and a rueful look drew down his face to 
a sorrowful length. 

“If she had only asked me /’ ’ 

“ You! You , Uncle Jack? Have you lost 
your senses? No, it’s me! Just happy me, and 
nobody else in the world she has asked. Now 
please don’t talk to me any more; I want to get 
through this book before tea;” and May plunged 
into the pages and was lost, though visions of 
fern-leaves came dancing over the lines now and 
then. 


MYSIE’S PORCH. 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

MYSIE’S PORCH. 

Out on the “ Eandry Road,” just at the arched 
corner where “ Marston of the Mills” and Bea- 
trice swept into the Rustling Bower, stood an odd- 
looking cottage, its rear wall big with a broad 
whitewashed chimney that ran up outside, while 
a tiny latticed porch shaded the front-door. 

The porch was a little shaky at the top, but 
the honeysuckle-vine clambering over it helped 
to cover that; there was a braided rug on the floor, 
and two old-fashioned arm-chairs, painted red, 
stood in the corners that the trellis made. 

“Ye dinna think it will come to that? Ye 
dinna think it will just fairly come to that? Ye 
wouldna say Mountford would turn us out for the 
bit interest we haven’t by us to pay? Eh, My- 
sie ?’ ’ a voice was saying from one of them in a 
trembling tone, and the speaker leaned forward 
for a closer look towards the other chair. 

“No, wouldna I,” answered Mysie, with an 
emphatic click of her knitting-needles as she 
spoke. “And it ’s naught but the comfort 0’ be- 


32 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

iii g telt so that keeps ye throoping the question at 
me, Rab. ” 

“Just the pure comfort o’ it, Mysie,” an- 
swered Rob, and he leaned back again in his red 
chair and watched Mysie without another word. 

Mysie felt his eyes on her, and tried to look as 
brave as her words sounded; but the look covered 
a very uncertain feeling at her heart, much as the 
honeysuckle blossomed and branched over the 
shaky spot at the top of the porch. 

She put up her hand now and then and 
smoothed down the frill of her cap. It was as 
white as snow, and exactly in place, as it always 
was, but that w r as a way Mysie had when she 
wished Rob would fix his eyes somewhere else. 

But Rob wasn’t going to look anywhere else. 
He kept his dark eyes steadily on Mysie’ s blue 
ones, with only quick little winks and occasional 
wanderings over the rest of her face to break the 
gaze. 

“ Hecli ! But ye ’re as bonny noo as the day 
I fetchit ye this side the water, a young bride,” 
he said at last, still dropping into the dialect that 
he and Mysie had long laid aside, and only took 
up now and then by an impulse that they both 
^understood. It had been overgrown, many a long 
year, by the clearer English spoken around them ; 
but it lay at the bottom of their hearts, after all, 


MYSIE’ S PORCH. 


33 


and once in a while, when something touched 
them to the very depths, it sprang up again fresh 
and strong. 

Mysie smiled. She was glad to have Rob 
thinking about something else than the danger 
that their landlord might sell their precious cot- 
tage over their heads because, after the many 
payments of slow, patient savings that had almost 
covered its price, there was a small remnant still 
due, which they not only found themselves now 
unable to pay, but even the interest on it was ly- 
ing neglected, with no prospect of better times. 

Rob went on again: 

“And mony a long day has passed us syne, 
Mysie. We’ve lost the count, happen, they’ve 
stretchet on so far; but the siller — the wage we’ve 
paid on the bit place — ye have the reckoning o’ 
that? Eh, Mysie?” 

“Twelve hundred, to the very penny,” an- 
swered Mysie, smoothing her cap-frill again, and 
then going on hastily without waiting for the 
rest of the questions that she knew would come. 
If Rob once started with the first he was sure to 
go on, and this time she felt that she could keep 
steadier if she were let alone. And she would not 
talk Scotch, either ; she must get back into Eng- 
lish if she didn’t want Rob to guess how she 
really felt. 


Good-Time* Girl*. 


O 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


34 . 

1 1 It was the savings of fifteen years, Rob, and 
it straitened ns close many a time, too, to lay it 
by ; but we were young and strong, and could 
bear a pinch here and there. We thought we ’d 
call the bit house our own some day, clear and 
safe for our old age. We thought the bairns we 
had worked so hard for would be strong to lean 
upon by-and-by, and we were proud when we 
saw them growing, and going out from us one by 
one. But when they came back, one by one 
again, to die, there was no more saving then; 
and there’s no more now, Rob,” and she stole 
one pitying half-glance at Rob in his red chair, 
and then another quick one at the house, as if 
she were afraid some one inside might hear. 

4 ‘And so we’ve come short after all,” she 
went on, dropping her voice to a lower tone, 
“but I’m going to see Mountford before many 
days. He could sell it over our heads, of course, 
for his mortgage, since we can’t pay the interest 
now this year and a half. But it wont come to 
that; it canna come to that, as I telt ye, Rab,” 
wound up poor Mysie, dropping to her “ canna ” 
and her “Rab” again, and lifting her eyes from 
her knitting for one quick smile over at Rob’s 
chair. 

Rob always took heart at one of those smiles 
of Mysie’ s — brave, comfortable smiles, as if all 


MYSIE’ S PORCH. 


35 


were right — and she knew it so well that she gave 
them sometimes when her own heart was almost 
standing still with fear. 

“Now may the Lord forgive me,” she used to 
say to herself at first, “if it’s the same by any 
manner of means as a lie;” but as days of trouble 
stretched on, her scruples, though still pricking 
at times, for the most part vanished away. ‘ c It 
is only telling him I ’in brave when he feels a 
bit weak himself,” she came to assure herself at 
last. “And what sin can there be if I make him 
a wee gleam of sunshine when there ’s darkness 
a body could well cut with a knife all around ?’ ’ 

Rob looked at her again. If Mysie said 
Mountford wouldn’t turn them out, he wouldn’t, 
and there was an end of that; and he settled him- 
self back in his chair comforted. That burden 
was off at least. 

Still the troubles gone by were sore to remem- 
ber yet, and as for the rheumatism, that was, un- 
luckily, more present than past ; and Rob gazed 
down at his stiff limbs, and turned his hands over 
and over, looking at the knotty crooks and twists 
that had put work out of the question now for a 
year. 

“But it’s been all o’ the Lord’s will, eh, My- 
sie?” he asked, lifting his eyes quickly again to 
Mysie’ s face. 


36 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

“ Yes, yes; I hope so !” answered Mysie has- 
tily, for Rob was getting upon the most difficult 
ground of all. As long as he was talking about 
their landlord, if she felt a doubt whether he 
could be hard-hearted enough to sell the house 
over their heads, she could at least go and ask 
him and it would be settled, for better or for 
worse. But if her heart failed her about the Lord, 
what could she do? He was so far, so very far 
out of sight; and if she were to ask him, how was 
even a single word ever coming back in reply ? 

But Rob had n’t taken her answer for any an- 
swer at all, and his eyes were waiting steadily for 
a better one. She must say something, it was 
plain. 

“The Lord ordereth all our ways, Rob,” she 
said at last, with her knitting-needles clicking 
the stitches off at a flying rate. 

“Ay,” answered Rob, with another long, 
slow look at his hands, first the palms and then 
the backs ; “ay, and vera pitiful and o’ tender 
mercy he is !” 

Mysie sprang up hastily, and her ball fell and 
rolled under Rob’s chair. She gave a little pull 
to her end of the yarn, drew it back, and picking 
it up with her face turned away from Rob, she 
hurried into the house. 

Was the Lord “pitiful and of tender mercy”? 


MYSIE’S PORCH. 


37 


Oh, if she only knew ! She was brought up to 
believe it. If she could only realize it now ! 
She could remember the very seat by the Scottish 
brook — “burn,” they called it there — where she 
used to sit and learn those texts while the stream 
rustled by at her feet. The sound of the running 
measured off the words, and she never thought of 
them now without seeming to hear it too. 

But could he really be pitiful, and let such 
troubles come treading on each other’s heels, in 
their hurry to reach her and Rob ? She lingered 
a moment just inside the door. There was a lit- 
tle hallway there, with more braided mats on the 
clean, painted floor, and Mysie wanted a minute 
to herself before she went in to meet another pair 
of eyes that had ways of asking questions too. 
They would see more in her face than she was 
willing to tell if she went in without a little time 
to pull herself through. 

“It was Donald first,” she said to herself; 

‘ ‘ Donald first, and such a fine, braw laddie as he 
was ! And so proud and strong we felt when we 
looked in his face; and a manly work we thought 
he went out in the world to do. ’ ’ 

And what came then? Mysie would not let 
herself go over it. It would never do to stand 
there saying over and over to herself how when 
Donald had been away six months there came a 


38 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

fine purse of money home to her and Rob, with a 
promise of another when the year was out, and 
how they laughed and said there was no need to 
fear growing old with such a lad as that. Nor 
how, when the year did come to an end at last, it 
was n’ta second purse that came home, but Don- 
ald himself, with a strange light burning in his 
eyes, a red spot in his cheek, and a cough that 
was like a sharp knife in Mysie’ s ears. 

Not that the cough signified anything, Donald 
said, only he had been getting tired, that was all. 
He had come home for a little rest, and he should 
be fresh for hard work again after that. 

u And rest you shall find here, then, laddie,” 
Mysie had said; but as weeks and months passed 
on she began keeping her first secret from Rob 
and the rest. She saw that, tireless as her nur- 
sing was, she was doing him no good. 

At last, one day, he gave a great, sudden cry, 
like a drowning man reaching out for help, 

‘ ‘ Mother, I grow more and more tired every 
day !” 

Mysie put her hand to her, heart, she felt such 
a strange sudden pain shooting through. 

“I can’t stay here,” he said again, trying to 
start up, while the restless look Mysie had seen in 
his eyes for a week grew stranger still. u Where 
can I go to rest ?’ ’ 


MYSIE’ S PORCH. 


39 


He crossed the room, but by the time he had 
reached the big arm-chair his strength failed, and 
Mysie put him down in it as if he had been a 
child. 

“Sit ye there, laddie,” she said, “and have 
patience the while. It’s patience ye have need 
of, and the rest will come. ’ ’ 

1 1 Only, somehow, ’ ’ said Donald, with his blue 
eyes lifted pitifully up to hers, “this does n’t seem 
to be the right place, mother, after all. It’s hard 
saying it, on top of all your care, but there’s no 
rest here. I shall have to try somewhere else. ’ ’ 

Mysie went out quickly, and her eyes looked 
at Rob, hard and dry. 

“ He thinks some other can do better than his 
mother for him,” she said. “And who could it 
be, Rob Macdonald? Answer me that.” 

“ Hech ! But ye’re too sensible a woman to 
mind the fretting of a sick lad,” answered Rob; 
but the next morning, when he went in just as 
the sky was red with sunrise to look at him, he 
came back to Mysie with great sobs shaking him 
from head to foot. 

“The Tord has been vera pitiful, Mysie,” he 
said; “ vera pitiful and o’ tender mercy. He saw 
this ’twasna the place. He saw you couldna do 
it, and he ’s resting him liimsel’.” 

Mysie gave a great cry and looked at Rob. 


4 o 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


* ‘ Pitiful ?’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ O’ tender mercy ? Then 
why couldna he hae kept him strong fra’ the 
first ?’ ’ 

There had been no saving that year, but Mal- 
colm was ready for work now. Malcolm was two 
years younger than Donald had been when he set 
off, but taller and stronger even at his age. 

“And he has courage enough for the two,” 
Mysie said proudly, as she watched him off; and 
then one present came home from him at Christ- 
mas, and the next May day he came himself, and 
there was the same red spot, and the same strange 
burning in his eyes. Mysie could never mistake 
them again. 

And now Tom was the only one left. Hand- 
some and strong, and learned in his books — so 
learned, Rob and Mysie were but “simple folk” 
compared to him. He would live, ready to keep 
them proud and safe far past the days left for 
them to spend upon the earth. 

And whatever Tom might send them should 
go to finish paying for the home; Rob and Mysie 
were determined upon that. 

It was two years now since Tom had got set- 
tled at his work; wonderful work it seemed to 
them, civil engineering with a party of “grand 
folk,” and mysterious shining instruments; and 
to-day — Mysie pricked her needles suddenly into 


MYSIE’ S PORCH. 


41 

her ball and went in. She had stood in the little 
hallway long enough. 

Tom was sitting in the same monstrous old 
high -backed, chintz -covered easy -chair where 
the others had tried so often and so vainly to 
“rest.” 

He looked up, as Mysie came in, with his 
great dark eyes. How she had always loved to 
look into Tom’s eyes ! 

“Mother,” he said cheerily, “I believe I’m 
getting over this foolish notion of laying off. I 
feel better, there’s no mistake. You’ll see me 
begin knocking about in a week or two. Did 
you see ‘Marston of the Mills’ make the dust fly 
just now? Think what it would be to own a 
horse like that! And I’ll have one some day, 
too. It wont be to-morrow, though. There are 
a few little matters to attend to first. Eh, mo- 
ther ?’ ’ 

Mysie did not answer, and Tom laughed. 

“There’s time enough yet for being rich. 
I ’ve got a doctor’s bill to pay first, I suppose; but 
that ’s soon disposed of, and the house comes next. 
How many hundred more is it that Mountford 
wants?” 

“Four,” answered Mysie, seeming to have 
great trouble with a tangle in her yarn. 

“ He ’s an old Jew ! It ’s a snug little place, 


42 the good-times gires. 

but it’s getting old. He couldn’t sell it to-day 
for lialf what you’ve paid him on it already. 
I ’ll see to it, though, for you must have a place 
snug and comfortable somewhere, and you mustn’t 
lose what you’ve paid on this. After that I’ll 
see that you have all the little every-day things 
besides. I wont have you working ; and father 
never ’ll get back to it, with his hands, that’s 
plain.” 

“He never will, Tom,” said Mysie steadily. 

* ( And such fine shapely hands as they were, and 
so willing and skilful too.” 

“Well, that’s past,” answered Tom. “It’s 
my turn now; and I’m better, I say. I’ll get 
over this soon, and it’s been too long already. 
I’ll see to Mountford and all the rest, and thank 
God for strength to do it. The interest on that 
six hundred — Mountford’ s mortgage — you ’ ve kept 
that paid up close, of course?” 

Mysie felt her blood stand still. She would 
never dare to tell Tom. What was he asking her 
for? 

“Eh, mother?” asked Tom again, with a 
quick touch of suspicion in his tone. He had 
only asked for the pleasure of hearing her say 
“Yes” before. 

“Now don’t you be worrying about the in- 
terest, Tom. The last hundred we paid on the 


MYSIE’S PORCH. 


43 


place came from you, and you ’re talking of do- 
ing the rest. That’s quite enough to be carried 
for your share. ’ ’ 

Tom started up and held the arms of the old 
chair with a tight grip. He had the same slen- 
der, well-shaped hands that Rob’s used to be, but 
they were too slender now, and the veins showed 
blue under the thin white skin. 

‘ ‘ Mother, ’ ’ he said sharply, ‘ ‘ tell me ! Why 
don’t you say ‘Yes’?” 

Poor Mysie ! Tom had never spoken to her 
in that way more than two or three times in his 
life, and it always took her breath away when he 
did. She knew what it meant ; Tom must be 
answered when he spoke like that. 

But her secret ! her secret ! She had never 
meant any one but Rob to know that. And they 
had kept it, above all others, so carefully from 
Tom. 

What was the use of nursing and fighting for 
Tom’s life against the enemy that had taken the 
other two, if they were to go telling him of trou- 
bles that might worry him down-hearted and sick 
again? What was there in the power of medi- 
cine against that? 

But Tom’s eyes were upon her, and she dared 
not make them wait. And she couldn’t tell him 
what wasn’t true. She told Rob what she feared 


44 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. . 

mightn’t be quite sure to come true sometimes, 
but never what she knew could n’t be so. 

“It was always paid till your father got sick, 
till his rheumatism came in,” she said at last 
hastily, knitting twice as fast as before, and as if 
her eyes would never see anything but knitting- 
needles again. 

“ What /” exclaimed Tom, with a sudden 
strength in his voice that made Mysie start 
again. “What’s that you say? Paid until fa- 
ther’s hands began to be lame? And not since 
then ?’ ’ 

“I didna say, ‘Not since then.’ ” 

“Not since then ?” repeated Tom, in the same 
tone that had gone through Mysie a moment ago. 

“Not that it’s ungentle or hard,” she had 
said to herself when Tom used it before, ‘ ‘ but it 
just cuts its way where he means it to go. It’s a 
masterful sound all at once. ’ ’ 

She knew he was “mastering” her now, and 
she would have been proud of it at any other time. 
How handsome he looked, with his brown hair 
lying in rings, and such a shining in his eyes ! 
Donald’s hair had been like that, only there was 
more gold showing through the brown; but his 
eyes ! Hecli ! She had seen too much such shi- 
ning as that before. 

“How should it have been paid since then?” 


MYSXE’S PORCH. 


45 


she asked with a sudden bravery in her voice. 
“When the father got sick, the wage stopped, 
and what was to be done then ? There were pres- 
ents from you, but there were medicines and fire 
and food, and how could I leave him and go 
looking for work? I couldna. It were a year 
ago, altogether, it is true, but — ” 

“ But / came home after that. I ’ ve been drag- 
ing instead of lifting since that day. I see how 
it has been ! There ’s a payment overdue then?’’ 

Mysie nodded. 

“How long?” 

“Since last spring. But he said he’d have 
patience till the next one — until fall — he did 
indeed, Tom!” 

Tom loosened his hold on the chair, struck 
the cushioned arm a blow with his fist, and then 
pulling himself up, walked two or three times 
across the floor. 

Mysie watched him, terrified, but not long. 

“Give me my cane,” he said hastily, as he 
felt his strength give way. “I’m stronger— I ’ll 
be at work soon — but I can’t walk without it 
yet. ’ ’ 

“Na, na, I ’ll give thee no cane. Come back 
to thy chair,” answered Mysie; and almost lifting 
him, as she had Donald once before, she put him 
back in it, like a child. 


4 6 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“O Tom! Tom!” she cried, broken down at 
last, “why wouldna ye leave me alone? It’ll 
be all right. Leave me to tak care o’ things, 
laddie; I ’ll see to it all.” 

Tom made a gesture, and Mysie caught one 
of his white hands, and smoothed it with a 
quick little caress, as she used to when he was a 
child. 

“Just leave it a while,” she went on. “It’s 
a little thing; why should a sick man tak it 
up? Not that ye’ll be sick a much greater 
while, by the Lord’s gude will, but just now, 
Tom.” 

“Mother,” said Tom, and the “masterful” 
tone was gone, and the- old gentleness that he 
always used to Mysie had came back, “it isn’t 
for you to earn money any more. That’s my 
work. I ’ll be w T ell soon, thank heaven, and 
make all right, but it’s none too soon for me to 
know. The time’s too short already. Why, 
Mountford could sell you out here, and turn you 
adrift if he chose, to-day.” 

“But he wouldna,” said Mysie, giving Tom 
one of the same smiles she had always kept for 
Rob. “He wouldna have the heart. He said 
he’d wait once, and he’ll wait again if there’s 
need. He ’s a mercifu’ man.” 

“He’s an old rock,” answered Tom fiercely, 


MYSIE’S PORCH. 


47 


springing half way up again, and striking the 
chair another blow, “/know him, of time gone 
by. If he’s ‘waited once,’ it was for some plot- 
ting of his own; he’d never miss a second chance. 
But he sha’n’t have it, heaven helping me. I'll 
settle with him, heaven helping me. Just let me 
get to work one month; I’m better already, mo- 
ther. Don’t you see I am? Don’t you see I’ll 
be out soon?” 

The look in Tom’s eyes was too much for 
Mysie this time, as they fastened upon hers. The 
weakness was so pitiable, and the pleading was 
so strong. 

She felt a great quiver run over her from 
head to foot — but Tom mustn’t know it. He 
shouldn't , if her soul could hold together. 

“Why not then? Why shouldn’t I see it? 
Only ye must tak comfort, laddie. There’s nae 
getting strength without comfort, as ye’ll know 
when ye’ve lived long in the world. So rest, 
and we ’ll inak all right by-and-by. I must fetch 
a bucket of water now, for the tea.” 

She caught up her shining pail, and went 
out with a quick step down the little well-worn 
path to the spring. It was the clearest and sweet- 
est spring that bubbled in all the town, and 
“Hoot !” was all Rob would ever say when “the 
lads” talked of having a well. 


4 8 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRTS. 


Mysie was safe out of hearing when once she 
got there. She set her pail down on the moss 
with a long wailing cry, like a child’s. 

“Oh, is He really pitifu’ ?” she sobbed, “ vera 
pitifu’, and o’ tender mercy, as Rob says? O 
Tom ! Tom ! My braw laddie. O Rob !” 


LILIES. 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

LILIES. 

“ YES, it shines! it shines! Not that it makes 
so very much difference, after all !” exclaimed a 
voice, as the blinds of May Llewellyn’s chamber 
were thrown open when Sunday morning came. 
One look was enough to dispel all anxiety about 
the skies. They were azure of the deepest shade, 
the air was crystal, and the sun had met May’s 
eyes with a glitter that sent them back dazzled, 
but delighted, to the inside shade. 

“No difference, eh? Hardly worth while for 
it to get up at all, I should say, in such a case as 
that.” 

The blinds closed quickly, and the voice went 
on with its remarks on the other side. 

“Oh, pity us, there ’s Uncle Jack already ! I 
wish he had n’ t thought it worth while to get up 
so soon. He ’s always close by if I say a foolish 
thing. But it doesn’t make so very much differ- 
ence whether the sun shines or not, for I shall go 
with Miss Beatrice, whatever it does, and there’ll 
be people in the church afterwards. Only it al- 
ways is so much nicer when the sky is really 

4 


Good-Times Girls. 


50 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

bright. But I do just hope Uncle Jack wont be- 
gin talking about it at the breakfast- table, that’s 
all.” 

But she need not have given herself anxiety 
on that point. Uncle Jack seldom teased when 
he knew it would be real teasing; and this morn- 
ing, though the state of things piqued his curios- 
ity a little, he was as quiet as a mouse, only send- 
ing a half-mischievous look over his coffee-cup 
now and then as May ventured a glance that 
way. She did not like to try him too long, how- 
ever, and breakfast was the least thing to be con- 
sidered that morning. She was off to the piazza 
before Uncle Jack’s cup was filled a second time; 
she could see the church from there and the chim- 
neys of the Marston house too, and a peep through 
the trees would just give her the hands of the 
clock. She was counting the minutes now. 

But she had not counted more than five when 
she felt a pair of strong arms thrown round her 
from behind and drawing her quietly down to a 
seat under a bower of vines. 

“So it makes a difference — or it doesn’t — 
which did you say ?” 

“Uncle Jack, it’s Sunday morning ! Can’t 
you be quiet, and do as you’d be done by on 
Sunday, if on no other day in the week?” 

“Certainly, on Sunday and all other days. 


LILIES. 


51 


But that is just what I want of you at this mo- 
ment. I want you to tell me what makes the 
conduct of the sun of such special importance to- 
day. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know whether it’s important at all; 
that ’s just what I said. I believe midnight would 
be sunshine to me if I were going to do something 
with Miss Beatrice, and I told you I was, two 
days ago, and you haven’t forgotten, of course.” 

Uncle Jack looked blankly forgetful for a mo- 
ment, in spite of May’s “of course,” and then 
suddenly let recollection come into his face. 

“Ah, yes; precisely !” he said at last, with a 
slow nod at May after each word. ‘ ‘ I believe 
that is just what I want to understand, after all. 
I would like to know what the mysterious charm 
of ‘doing something with Miss Marston’ may 
be.” 

May hesitated, colored, and slipped off with 
an answer rather at one side. 

“You know it’s her Sunday for the church, 
and I saw the ferns yesterday. Cleo brought 
them, and they’re just exquisite; and they’re to 
go in the two tall flower-stands, and to be filled 
with lilies; and I do love to help about such 
things — something that really is something, you 
know.” 

The quizzical look began to pull at Uncle 


52 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


Jack’s moustache again, but he straightened it 
into the most solemn lines. 

“Then there is something that really isn't 
something, I suppose. That’s strange; but, after 
all, it doesn’t explain why anything that is any- 
thing should be in Miss Marston’s company — ” 

“Uncle Jack,” interrupted May, with a help- 
less pull at one of the strong arms, “I must go 
this moment. I can’t stay, really. I must be at 
Miss Marston’s in six minutes from now.” 

“Make it six and a half, then, just to oblige 
me, and take the half one to answer my ques- 
tion.” 

May gave one more quiet “try” to the hold 
that was keeping her. It was like iron; she 
knew Uncle Jack too well, and looked wofully 
up into his face. 

“I don’t see any reason why I should tell you, 
and you wont like it if I do.” 

“ That’s my affair. You ’ve lost a quarter of 
a minute now.” 

May glanced at the clock. Oh, despair! She 
could never expect Miss Beatrice to wait. 

“Well, then,” she began desperately. 

“The whole truth, please,” interrupted Uncle 
Jack, and she felt the iron hold growing a little 
firmer still. 

“I think she’s perfectly beautiful and per- 


UUES. 


53 


fectly lovely, and I suppose I’m just old enough 
to care a great deal about a young lady — you 
can’t even imagine how I feel to her — and — she 
likes me — and — that isn’t all; but you wont like 
it if I do tell you the rest. ’ ’ 

“ Go on.” 

‘ ‘ It always seems as if she had been close to 
the Lord Jesus — as if she had brought away a 
touch, she had been so close. And the touch 
seems to come over to me almost, and I look at 
her and wonder if it will be like that if I ever 
come where He is, only of course it will be a 
thousand times — ” 

She felt Uncle Jack’s arms suddenly letting 
go their hold. 

“Thank you. I think the half-minute is up. 
There’s an amaryllis open at the greenhouse 
door. You can cut it if you like.” 

May sprang up like a freed bird, the color still 
burning in her cheeks from the struggle she had 
had. She hated turning her heart inside out, and 
this time it had gone particularly hard. 

But the amaryllis stalk ! She had almost cov- 
eted it the night before. It was too good to have 
that ! 

“Oh, you are so kind!” she began, but he 
pointed to the clock, pulled a book from his 
pocket, and she sped away. 


54 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

The lost half-minute did no harm, after all. 
Miss Marston was laying the last handful of ferns, 
cool and fresh, in their basket as she came in, and 
Thorne stood by, hat in hand, ready to serve as 
escort and carrier at once. 

“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, as May 
sprang up the steps. “ And another stalk of blue! 
Oh, where did you get it ? I wanted one so much. 
I have twice as much red. Now we will be off ; 
we need plenty of time, you know, and we shall 
have more than an hour, now, before any one can 
possibly come.” 

The church rose just beyond the corner, only 
a few minutes away, its gray stone tower all clam- 
bered over with vines that nestled in corners, or 
swung off in draperies, or hugged it close in broad 
sheets, still wet with the heavy dew of the night. 

The door stood open already. Prim, the old 
sexton, understood all about that. 

“Dear little church !” said Beatrice lovingly, 
as they stepped inside. “So many happy, happy 
hours I ’ ve had with you ! There ’s no place like 
home, is there, May?” 

May looked wonderingly at her, and Beatrice 
smiled. 

“Not that the dear Christ doesn’t come as 
close to us in other places, if we keep the door 
open wide; but he’s promised to be here, you 


LILIES. 


55 


know, and it does seem sometimes as if the touch 
were a little dearer and sweeter than anywhere 
else. ’ ’ 

“But that doesn’t make it ‘home,’ does it, 
Miss Beatrice?” 

‘ ‘ Does n’t it ? And what does make home to 
you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything! No, I 
think it’s because mamma is always there. At 
least, it doesn’t seem like home at all if I open 
the door and don’t find her somewhere there.” 

“That’s it exactly, darling. Then isn’t this 
‘home’ to our souls? One home, at least, for we 
never can come in that the blessed Lord isn’t 
waiting for us with the touch of peace — with his 
wonderful love. O May, is n’ t it wonderful ? Do 
you know what he says he is working and wait- 
ing and bearing for to the very end of the world ? 
what he did work and suffer for through all that 
weary, bitter time when he was here? All, every 
bit of it, so that he may ‘present us unto himself’ 
perfect and lovely as his own must be. Nay, dar- 
ling, it grows more and more wonderful to me 
every day. Now see ! Everything is as fresh as 
if it were this moment out of the woods, and here 
comes Thorne with the water. Do you want to 
fill the basins in the flower-stands while I make a 
beginning here?” 


56' THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

The work went on rapidly. Miss Marston’s 
slender white fingers were deft and swift, and 
May’s were on the alert for every opportunity to 
help. The ferns rose higher and higher, and their 
slender stalks and delicate feathery forms had lost 
neither grace nor freshness by their transfer from 
the woods. 

“There ! They look as if they liked it, don’t 
they, May? This one is just the least bit too tall 
for the others yet. Now! That is right, isn’t 
it? Just go one step down and see. Now I think 
they ’re ready for the lilies. Hand me a few blue 
ones, dear, and I’ll tuck them in. This stand 
shall have all the blue, and the other the red, and 
the vase that goes on the table shall be white. 
There is your lovely stalk of blue. How did you 
ever come to have it?” 

“Oh, Uncle Jack always gives me what he 
thinks I really want, and the greenhouse is his, 
you know. But he is so queer. He always has 
to do just so much teasing first. Are there enough, 
do you think?” 

“Just exactly enough. See ! That last stalk 
* gives just the perfect touch. Now we’ll put it in 
its corner just this side of the desk, and our fingers 
must fly. We mustn’t waste time. You know 
what the red and the blue used to symbolize in all 
the old paintings, don’t you, May?” 



Good-Times Girls. Page 56. 





















































« 

























* 









■ 










UUE'S. 


57 


“No, I never dreamed they meant anything,” 
answered May, with a shake of her head, her fin- 
gers still passing up one flower after another as 
fast as they could. 

1 1 The red always meant Love, and the blue 
was Truth, and the white is Purity, of course. 
Isn’t it pleasant to think of, since we happen to 
have them all to-day ? All colors w T ere considered 
to mean something, oh, long, long ago — long be- 
fore the pictures that we call old came from the 
great masters’ hands, and they seem always to 
have remembered it. If you ever see one of the 
disciples painted with his mantle all aglow and 
warm with red, you may be sure it is meant for 
the loving John. And do you remember the scar- 
let and blue and fine-twined linen that the Jews 
had in the Tabernacle — those beautiful curtains 
that hung by the golden loops? Some people 
think it was even as long ago as that that those 
colors were used to mean just those things. And 
the purple— the glorious purple that they used so 
much— the red and the blue— the love and the 
truth would be together in that. Only I’m afraid 
some of the kings an£ emperors who have worn 
it since have n’t known much about either grace. 
Now one more stalk, dear. That is our very last, 
and all buds, too. I don’t think this vase can 
be any better, do you? That fills the other cor- 


58 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

ner, and now for our lovely little one with the 
white.” 

It was soon done now. The white flowers 
lay lowly and pure in their place below the desk, 
and Miss Marston and May stepped back for a 
critical survey. 

“What do you think, May? Are they 
right?” 

“Right? No one ever did it half so beauti- 
fully before?” 

“Not half? Don’t be extravagant, May. 
But they are lovely lilies. They toil not, neither 
do they spin. Are you glad it is our Sunday, 
dear?” 

“ Our Sunday !” May felt a quick little beat 
of gratitude down to her finger-tips. It was Miss 
Marston’s Sunday, that was all; and she had just 
asked May to come too because she knew she 
would like it; and now she was calling it her 
Sunday in that quiet way. 

“ It is joyful to have even a little offering that 
we can make, isn’t it, May?” Miss Marston went 
on. “A day would seem so dreary when we 
could n’t find anything to give. Not that I think 
such a day as that really ever comes ; but it is 
pleasant to have something for our hands really 
to bring, if it’s only a poor little bundle of flowers 
after all. And it ’s so wonderful that He cares to 


UUES. 


59 


have us, when all the treasures of the fields and 
the woods are his. It’s the love behind the 
bringing that he cares for, of course.” 

She had drawn May down on a step beside 
her where they could look for another moment at 
their work. Did it want a touch here or there 
yet? 

May looked hesitatingly in her face a moment, 
and then — yes, she would ask her. 

“Miss Beatrice, I can’t think how you can 
love him quite so much, how you can always 
be wanting something to do for him.” 

“ I ? The dear Christ ! How I can love him 
so much !” repeated Beatrice slowly, with a won- 
dering look in her turn down at May. “Oh, my 
darling, how little you understand !” 

She drew her arm still more closely about 
May. “A poor, poor little love like mine! 
What is it, May? What is it, compared to his? 
And yet, how can it help going back to him, like 
one tiny drop flowing to the ocean again ! How 
can I want to do anything for him? Think of 
those worn, patient feet and loving hands that 
were never tired of toil for us through all that 
weary, busy life of his — that went to bitter 
death at last, and rose again only to take him 
back to the disciples and tell them still more pre- 
cious things for us. Oh, my sweet May, I want 


60 the good-times girds. 

every Hour of my life to be something to him ! I 
know he doesn’t need anything. I know our 
love is what he most really wants. He could do 
everything for himself. But it does please him 
to have us like to help, and it is such delight. I 
feel restless if I can’t find something, some tri- 
fling little work, that I can feel is service done 
for him. You feel so too; I am sure you do. 
You’ve loved to bring even those few flowers to 
make his house beautiful to-day.” 

u Yes; I did like that.” 

‘ ‘ Of course there are other things far better 
still to do — a cup of cold water, a little loving 
help, a comfort to one of his little ones, but what- 
ever our hands can find to do. That is sweet, is 
it not? There ’s the first stroke of the bell ! We 
must take the baskets to Thorne this moment.” 

They hurried down the aisle. Thorne was 
waiting near the door. 

‘ 1 Did you see that poor little twisted thing of 
Jim Burlock’s looking in ?” he asked, as he took 
the basket from Miss Marston’s hand. 

“Whose? Jim Burlock’s? Oh, I remember 
now,” as a sudden recollection of Midge and 
what she had heard of her came to her mind. 
“No, Thorne. Where was she?” 

“Right here at the door. She was watching 
you as if her eyes could fairly reach up the aisle. 


LILIES. 6l 

She ’s gone like the wind, though, as soon as you 
turned about.” 

“ Oh, I know who she is,” exclaimed May. 
“I see her every day at school. She ’s one room 
below me. She wanted to see the flowers. I do 
not believe anybody ever cared for flowers as 
much as Midge. I believe she thinks a dande- 
lion is pure gold. ’ ’ 

u Poor little soul ! Why didn’t we know she 
was there? She could have come in and looked 
on, and seen the whole thing!” exclaimed Bea- 
trice regretfully, with a wistful look at the cor- 
ner round which Midge, with hurrying feet, had 
disappeared. 

“But the people will be coming, May. It 
wont do for us to stand here. I ’ll tell you, 
though, ’ ’ she added suddenly, ‘ ‘ what we can do ! 
I think I see a chance for a ‘ cup of cold water ’ 
this very day. Somebody must have those flow- 
ers by-and-by. Suppose we send one of the vases 
round to Midge !” 


62 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER V. 

MIDGE AND THE CASHMERE SHAWL. 

Midge and Jim sat together that evening, as 
they always did while the little strip of sunset sky 
was glowing and burning with its crimson and 
gold. They wouldn’t have missed that, what- 
ever else might be dropped out of their day. 

But to-night, for the first time in her life, 
something seemed to be wrong about it with 
Midge. She couldn’t seem to see the colors. 
She could n’t see anything but tall vases of lilies, 
and two figures that flitted about them, half hi- 
ding them, now and then, from her sight. 

u I couldn’t really see them, either — the flow- 
ers, I mean — they were so far-off,” she had said 
over and over to herself that day. il But I do n’t 
think that was what tantalized me most. I don’t 
think it was, ’ ’ and Midge shook her head doubt- 
fully, as she tried to get the points of the case 
clearly in hand. 

‘ 1 It was the Llewellyn girl being so close to 
her, I guess. That must have been a big part of 
it, I’m afraid. I didn’t suppose anyone could 
ever have come near Miss Marston so. But she 


MIDGE AND THE CASHMERE SHAWL. 63 

did ! I could n’t though, if the world was to end. 
Not with my clothes! I shouldn’t dare. But it 
would n’ t be all the clothes. She would n’ t let 
me. Not me. I wonder — ” 

Midge gave a quick look round towards the 
crooked shoulder, and a sudden pang shot through 
her soul at last. “The Llewellyn girl’s got a 
straight back. That ’s it, of course ! Everybody 
has but me. I can never come near the like of 
Miss Marston, of course. I knew I couldn’t all 
the time.” 

All day long Jim had been giving quick, sus- 
picious looks down into Midge’s face. It was a 
shapely little brown face, and Jim knew every 
turn and outline of it as well as he knew his own 
most secret self. But to-day he was sure there 
was something in it that he had never seen be- 
fore. 

“Come along, Midge,” he had said at last, 
when afternoon came, “let’s be getting off to 
church.” 

“Now?” answered Midge, glancing at the 
little clock that ticked away with a hurry-scurry 
sort of clatter on its shelf behind the door; “why, 
it is not time. It ’s a quarter of an hour yet to 
the first touch of the bell; and you must know it, 
too, for you’ve been that restless, watching the 
time, that I didn’t know what to think.” 


6 4 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“I thought it was uncommon dull here for 
you, Midge; that was all.” 

Midge laughed, so exactly her own laugh 
that Jim thought for the moment he had been 
“all out” in his notion about her looks. 

“Well, we’ll wait a bit, then. But it’s a 
long day to be cooped up inside. ’ ’ 

Midge gave him a quick, scrutinizing look 
in her turn. 

Dull? The only day in the week when he 
could stay with her dull? Was Jim really 
going to get queer, as he seemed to the other 
night ? 

“There ! There goes the bell at last. Now 
let’s be off,” said Jim, as the rather cracked call 
of their own little church was heard. Midge went 
to a heavy old chest of drawers that stood, with 
rather a bungling look, at the other side of the 
room, and took out a bundle from the lowest one 
of the four — something carefully folded and pinned 
in an old-fashioned homespun towel with blue 
stripes and fringe. 

The pins were removed and stuck one by one 
in a pincushion that stood on top of the chest; 
they must be ready for use again when the bundle 
should be put back. Then the towel was un- 
folded, and the one pride and precious thing of 
Midge’s wardrobe was brought forth — a cashmere 


MIDGE AND THE CASHMERE SHAWL. 65 

“square shawl ” that had been Midge’s mother’s 
in its day. 

Jim stood and looked at her with his hands 
folded behind his back. He always did that, as 
regularly as Midge went to the drawer, and with 
the same strange feeling of pain and pleasure 
mixing together at his heart. 

He wouldn’t have missed seeing the shawl 
when a Sunday came, for half his week’s pay, 
and he wouldn’t have missed seeing Midge put 
it on. And yet it was a sharp thing to remember 
the day when he brought it home, his first present 
to somebody that would never come back; and 
somehow when Midge opened it, the sight of a 
pretty little figure always came between her and 
his eyes, and made his great stout pulse give 
one or two strange quick beats. 

Jim had not been much of a judge of shawls, 
and it was not in the very latest style at the first; 
and its colors were faded now, and it looked a 
little queer. But neither he nor Midge knew 
that, and to Midge it was the same half-wonder- 
ful, half-sacred thing it had been through all that 
time that had seemed so long, while she was wait- 
ing to be twelve years old and woman enough to 
put it on. And then, somehow, Midge always 
felt as if her shoulders did not look so different 
from other people’s when she wore the shawl. 

5 


Good-Times Glr!s. 


66 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“Is that even, Jim?” she said, turning before 
him when she had it placed, and trying to hide 
the proud little look that she always felt coming 
over her face when she got it on. 

“Yes, that’s even. Only the tail of the 
fringe drags just a bit behind.” 

Midge gave it a little hitch on her arms, took 
a long green parasol from another drawer, and 
they were off. 

Their walk was much the same as the one they 
took on week-days, except that the closing of the 
small shops and workshops that made up part of 
it gave rather a forsaken look; but towards the 
end they turned into quite a different street, shady 
and pleasantly built up. 

4 1 There goes that black-eyed fellow that works 
at the Marston Mills,” said a voice inside the 
blinds of the first house after the corner was 
passed. “He never misses a Sunday afternoon, 
year in and year out. It ’s the little church down 
on the square that they’re aiming for. There’s 
where they go. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 They ?’ ’ asked another voice. “Is ‘a black- 
eyed fellow ’ they ?’ ’ 

“Not when he’s alone,” was the answer, 
with a light laugh. “But he never is alone. 
There’s always that queer little thing close by 
his side. She used always to have a good hold 


MIDGE AND THE CASHMERE SHAWE. 67 

on his hand, but I suppose she’s getting an idea 
she’s too old for that now. She’s holding that 
funny little old-fashioned shawl round her in- 
stead. It’s that little free church down there, 
you know. People pay what they like or nothing 
at all. That’s the reason they go, I suppose.” 

Perhaps that was the reason why the seats 
were hard and plain too. There were no flowers, 
and the flies buzzed about over the whitewashed 
walls. But all that wouldn’t have mattered 
much with Midge, if she could only have under- 
stood what the minister was talking about. 

She couldn’t seem to, however, or when she 
could, it seemed to be something that did n’t con- 
cern her, as far as she could see, and the lily 
stands kept coming before her eyes again. 

“If I could only have seen ’em closer, 
though ! I wanted to get closer. If I could, 
and if I could have just felt Miss Marston’s dress 
touch against mine once, as it did against the 
Llewellyn girl’s — I ’d almost have been willing 
to die after that. If it wasn’t for Jim, I mean. 
Of course I couldn’t without Jim.” 

Midge went singing about to get tea after 
they got home ; they always had tea by them- 
selves Sunday night as the treat of the week, and 
she wanted to get it well out of the way and ev- 
erything put to rights before the sunset hour 


68 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


should come on. They never liked to miss sit- 
ting by the window then. 

But now that it had come, up had sprung the 
strange troublesome thoughts again, and with the 
sudden, bewildering sharpness of that last one 
about her back, a look had started into her face 
that Jim had caught in a flash. 

“Now, Midge, what is it?” he asked sudden- 
ly, with a determined tone. “There’s no use 
keeping it back. I ’ve seen there was something 
all day.” 

Midge started in her turn, grew red, then 
white, and then gave a little laugh. 

“If I could only have been a little closer 
this morning,” she said. “I told you about it, 
you know. But what makes you think I care ? 
I only happened to think of it, that’s all.” 

The fierce look that had been in Jim’s face the 
day they looked through the hedge together came 
into it again. Midge had never seen it there be- 
fore or since. 

“ Now, I tell you there is something wrong !” 
he said, with his fist clenched tight. “Polks call 
themselves Christians, but what do they care for 
other folks? Marston and a few others — they 
built us a church. That’s all right, so far. But 
what do they care for us after once the church is 
done? They send us there to be told as how 


MIDGE AND THE CASHMERE SHAWE. 69 

Christ is the Lord of us all alike, but they keep 
their rich things and their fine things to them- 
selves after we get home. Look at Marston’s 
daughter now !” 

“And why shouldn’t they?” asked Midge 
gayly. ‘ ‘ I guess we do n’ t want to be beggars, 
however it is. ’ ’ 

“No, we don’t! But somehow, when the 
Christ they preach about was here he seemed to 
have a way of letting other folks share without 
calling ’em beggars or making ’em feel them- 
selves such. ’ ’ 

“Well, he didn’t have much of a share him- 
self,” said Midge thoughtfully. “Not some 
ways. Some ways he was poorer than we are, 
Jim. Only” — and Midge hesitated — “he could 
see the lilies of the field, for he talked about ’em! 
Jim,” and her voice dropped suddenly and her 
hands clasped, “Jim, you can’t think what those 
white ones were this morning. If I could have 
got just a little closer to her — ” 

Midge started. There was a knock at the 
door. Jim got up quickly and opened it. It was 
Thorne, with the vase of white lilies in one hand 
and half the bouquet of ferns and blue ones in the 
other. He gave Jim a quick friendly nod. He 
was quick about everything he did, but he had 
known Jim for years about the mill. 


70 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“Miss Marston sent these to the little ’un,” 
he said, holding the flowers out to Jim, with an- 
other nod towards the room where Midge sat 
holding her breath. “ She heard she was uncom- 
mon fond of ’em. She says it wouldn’t be worth 
while sending back the vase, and she hopes it 
wont be taken as a liberty her sending of ’em 
down. And if the little ’un would come up to 
the place some day she’d be pleased to show her 
whatever there might be in bloom.” 

Jim’s hands hung down at his sides as if they 
were made of stone, and his black eyes stared at 
Thorne. But Thorne was pushing the flowers 
forward, Jim made a thrust in return, and Thorne 
swung off the steps. 

“Good-night to you,” he said, and was gone. 


EASY-CHAIRS. 


71 


CHAPTER VI. 

EASY-CHAIRS. 

The purple and gold of Sunday niglit’s sun- 
set had vanished away, the darkness had brought 
rest and sleep, and now great bars of crimson ly- 
ing along the east opened the morning of another 
busy, hurrying week. 

Midge hardly knew whether she had slept or 
not, but she had seen tall white lilies all night, 
however it was. They had stood close beside her 
bed, just where a flood of still, soft moonlight fell 
over them, and. as long as Midge could hold her 
eyes open her look never sw r erved. When her 
eyes would shut she saw them still, whether it 
was in dreams or not she did not ask. 

“And she sent them to me !” she said over 
and over to herself a hundred times. “And she 
said I might come up there some time. And if I 
was to go, who knows but my dress might touch 
against hers, as the Llewellyn girl’s did !” 

Midge laid her brown little hands across 
her breast. There was such a strange feeling 
there. 

“I wonder if it’s like the way the lilies feel 


72 the good-times girls. 

when the moonlight touches ’em,” she said. “ I 
don’t believe but it is.” 

The lilies grew taller and taller. That must 
be a dream. And then the moonlight crept round 
the corner and was gone, and then the red light 
came in, and Jim was astir. The first whistle at 
the mill had sounded; he must be off in twenty 
minutes at the most. 

“ You w r ont hardly come down to think of din- 
ner-pails to-day; that wouldn’t be to be looked 
for,” he said as he went out, with a shy sort of 
laugh and a look towards the old-fashioned stand 
where Midge had put the vase. Somehow he had 
the feeling that he had said some foolish things 
the day before. 

“Just you wait and see,” answered Midge, 
with one of her quaint little nods, and then she 
watched Jim’s great strides down the street, hum- 
ming a low tune to herself as he got farther and 
farther out of sight. 

It was more bubbling than humming, gener- 
ally, with Midge, but to-day — somehow there was 
a strange kind of happiness about things to-day. 

Jim went on swiftly, and was soon passing the 
house with the red blinds again. It gave him a 
shorter cut to take a little piece of this street into 
his walk; and though he never would do it at 
night, when he was coming home begrimed from 


EASY-CHAIRS. 73 

liis work, he often slipped through in a morning 
when he was fresh. 

‘ ‘ There goes your black-eyed friend, Fanny, ’ ’ 
said the same voice that had asked yesterday if 
she called one man ‘ ‘ they. ’ ’ 

There was only a sleepy murmur, and the 
voice went on, 

“ Fanny! Fanny Stacy! Do n’t you know that 
when a morning is gone it’s gone, and there’s 
no catching it again? And you ’ll never catch a 
lovelier one than this. If it were I, now, who 
wanted to cheat you out of it.” 

“Oh, I’ll cheat myself; never mind, Sister 
Lou,” murmured Fanny, and was lost in another 
nap; and Jim had finished a quarter of his morn- 
ing’s work before she sauntered into the break- 
fast-room, looking languidly about for the deli- 
cate bits she knew Sister Lou had left waiting at 
her place. 

“Fanny, this is absurd,” said Miss Stacy, 
glancing through from the library beyond. 

Fanny answered with a light laugh. 

“Vacation, remember, dear Lou. Why should 
vacation mean early rising and toil ? Those come 
fast enough to schoolgirls when the term be- 
gins.” 

‘ ‘ Toil ! The toil of a butterfly ! There goes 
even that little Dick Forsyth dashing by for a 


74 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

rebuke. He ’s passed three or four times already 
this morning on that pony of his, as if the world 
were waiting for him at the next street.” 

Fanny sprang up, and the listless look disap- 
peared for a moment from her face as she strained 
her eyes from the window for a glimpse of the 
graceful little white pony Dick always rode. 

“Yes, Eou. Just once give me a ‘beastie’ 
such as that, and see if I could n’t do a little dash- 
ing too. You know it ’s the one desire of my life. 
No, the world isn’t exactly waiting for him, 
either, but I know what is. He’s got something 
going on for the club, and he ’ll have a report to 
make. Oh, dear ! I don’t see why the boys 
should have all the good times. Why shouldn’t 
the girls have a club?” 

“An Early-Morning Club, for instance?” 
asked Miss vStacy quietly, with a dry little way 
that she had. 

“ Eou,” remonstrated Fanny, as she went lan- 
guidly back to her seat, “don’t make innocent 
remarks with a terrible stab underneath. ’ ’ 

“Would n’t a club of that name suit you ? It 
must be some such company that Dick belongs 
to, if that’s what’s driving him about through 
this fresh air with such a color in his cheeks.” 

“Now, Sister Eou, it can’t be you mean to 
say you do n’t really know ! You ’re always see- 


e;asy-chairs. 


75 


in g Miss Ethel Stuyvesant, and it was she and 
Geoff Stuyvesant that started the whole thing. 
Dick is messenger of the Blue-Badge Boys, and 
the Blue-Badge Boys are the Comfortable Club, 
whatever that may mean. It means having a 
good time, for the principal thing, of course; but 
Geoff Stuyvesant is at the head of it, at least.” 

‘ ‘ Having a good time is the hardest work 
that’s done sometimes.” 

u Is it? I’d be willing to try, if I once had 
a pony like that. It’s too tantalising to look on. 
Don’t you think it might possibly do as well for 
girls as for boys? Mightn’t having a good time 
possibly be a ‘comfortable’ thing for them?” 

“Excellent, and I’ll suggest a beginning for 
you this moment. Just take this basket and run 
down to the Bon Marchd. I can’t think of any- 
thing that would promise better success. ’ ’ 

Fanny opened wide eyes at her sister, with a 
significant shrug, and proceeded to fold her nap- 
kin in a very deliberate way. 

‘ ‘ One of your everlasting little baskets to Ma- 
demoiselle. May I inquire what ’s in it this morn- 
ing, for the seven hundred and fiftieth time?” 

“ Only a few peaches; but there isn’t a pret- 
tier color in their cheeks than the sight of them 
will bring into Mademoiselle’s. Just try it, and 
see if you have n’t had a ‘ good time.’ ” 


76 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Fanny gave another shrug, more expressive 
than the first, and rose listlessly from her seat. 

“L,ou, since it’s so very delicious, I think I 
will just leave it to you. You ’ll be going that 
way some time to-day, I am sure. It will take me 
the rest of the morning to finish that story I be- 
gan. It is too interesting. I made one sacrifice 
to yon in putting it away at all, last night, so do 
not ask me for another to-day. ’ ’ 

She settled herself in a luxurious chair, and 
was soon lost to everything outside of her book. 
Her sister gave her one or two quick, measuring 
glances, as she herself finished a bit of sewing, 
every stitch of which told on the very thread it 
ought to take hold of with a swift, energetic pull. 
Miss Stacy’s stitches were always swift and ener- 
getic, as were also her steps, her thoughts, and 
her touches upon whatever she took up, and the 
moment this particular bit was done, it was fold- 
ed and dropped into the drawer of a graceful lit- 
tle work-table that stood near. 

The drawer was closed again, and Miss Stacy 
went past Fanny’s chair to a closet in the room 
where she sat, took from the shelf a basket, the 
very look of which, with its corner of dainty 
fringed napkin hanging out, was enough to prom- 
ise deliciousness inside, quietly put on her hat 
and gloves, and was gone. 


EASY-CHAIRS. 


77 


Fanny got one more look as she went by ; a 
curious look, as if she were some natural curiosity 
that Miss Stacy would like to understand. 

“I can’t make that child out at all,” she was 
saying to herself as she closed the front-door. 
“She is fourteen years old, and the longer she 
lives, the less conception she seems to have of 
what living is. She really seems to think that 
doing nothing is the greatest luxury it can bring. 
Doing nothing !” and Miss Stacy’s finely-cut 
nostrils curved with scorn. “Why, it’s death and 
captivity! It isn’t living!” and she went on 
with steps even quicker than usual, as her per- 
plexing problem failed to solve itself. 

“It is simply incomprehensible to me,” she 
pursued. “I can’t imagine how a girl of her 
sense can have such an idea, or where she got it, 
or how it is ever to be shaken off*. She certainly 
knows I don’t think there is pleasure in nonenti- 
ty ; she has seen that ever since she was born. ’ ’ 


73 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BON MARCH^. 

The distance between the house and Mam’- 
selle’s little shop grew rapidly less. Fanny was 
left behind and Mam’selle drew near, and Miss 
Stacy’s thoughts grew more quiet and satisfac- 
tory at every step. She would find things busy 
enough in the “Bon Marche” — that was the 
sign over Mam’selle’s shop-door. It was like a 
little beehive in there, only that Mam’selle had 
to be queen-bee and workers all in one. 

And it was sunshiny, too ; and though there 
was only a very slender little stock of goods, 
everything had such a dainty look, and the rows 
of boxes were so tidily put up, and Mam’selle 
herself was so pretty and “finished” looking in 
her suit of deep mourning, with its plain collar 
and cuffs ; and even the mere putting a spray of 
flowers back into the show-case, or returning a 
box to the shelf after a customer had gone out, 
seemed a graceful thing when done with the 
pretty turn of Mam’selle’s arm and hand. 

Mam’selle was young yet, and her hair had as 
bewitching a way of falling about her forehead as 


THE BON MARCHE. 


79 

any girl’s. She could not be more than twenty- 
five at the most, but the world had given her 
some rough pushes in the course of that time, and 
grief had come in at last with the rest. 

If you wanted to see the smile vanish out of 
Mam’selle’s face in a flash, you had only to speak 
one name, only to say one word about “ Heloise,” 
and her soft brown eyes would brim over in an 
instant with tears. 

Most people turn away quickly from a subject 
that makes their eyes brim with tears, but it was 
not so with Mam’selle. She always leaned over 
the counter with such a quick, eager look, as if 
begging you to say something more. She would 
have liked to talk all day about Heloise, only 
that she would not intrude. So she would only 
say one little thing quickly, as if she could not 
help it, and then wait for you ; she knew no one 
could wish to be always thinking of Heloise but 
herself. 

“Ah, but she was so very lovely! so beauti- 
ful ! You know how that was. Every one 
knows. Ah, que c' est merveilleux /” 

That was one of the little things she used to 
say, while her brown eyes begged, unconsciously, 
for something back from you ; and as for her 
“c’est merveilleux,” all her customers were 
quite used to that. 


8o 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


If they had not heard her say, “It is marvel- 
lous !” before they had really finished a visit to 
the shop, they would have thought life was be- 
ginning over again as a different thing with 
Mam’selle. There had always been a “wonder” 
somewhere so far with her. 

“But you are pretty, too. Very pretty!” 
Midge had ventured to answer that very morning 
to Mam’selle’s “Every one knows.” 

Midge had never been inside the store before. 
She had had many a nod and smile from Mam’- 
selle as she passed the door, but she could not 
think of spending Jim’s money for ribbons, and 
she had a strange, undefined feeling that they 
would not look well on her if she could. But she 
must have a piece to-day, and she had slipped 
into the Bon Marche just as Miss Stacy was start- 
ing with her swift step for the same place. Only 
a very small piece, but it was Jim’s birthday and 
she had a rose and a bachelor’s button and a pink 
to tie up together for a surprise. She did not 
like putting the bachelor’s button with the others, 
as far as her own taste was concerned ; she would 
rather have it go by itself. But she knew he 
would not see any reason why, and the nosegay 
would not be any too large at the best. 

Mademoiselle had found her the very thing in 
the very first box she took down; and the price 


the: bon march b'. 


8i 


was so low, too, compared with Midge’s fears as 
to what such things’ might be. 

“One-half yard?” said Mademoiselle, and 
Midge watched her white fingers with wondering 
eyes. How quick and graceful they were as they 
measured and cut it off ; and then they stopped 
suddenly and smoothed it with a little touch 
Midge did not understand before they let the bit 
of white paper roll it up. 

“It is one of the pieces Heloise bought,” 
Mademoiselle said, as she handed it across to 
Midge with a smile. 4 ‘ These will be all gone 
soon, and the “ Bon Marche ” will seem a strange 
place then, with only goods such as I myself may 
choose. It is a strange place always now, how- 
ever, as to that, since she herself is gone. And 
so very lovely as she was ! Every one knows 
that!” The smile was very bright and sweet, 
but the moisture was coming again into Madem- 
oiselle’s eyes. Midge looked back into them and 
could not help saying what she did, though if 
any one had told her she would, when she came 
into the store, she would have said he had lost 
his senses long ago. 

To stand square in front of Mam’selle and tell 
her how pretty she was ! 

“Ah, but she was far, far prettier! Oh, the 
two persons could never be in the least com- 

Good-TIwes Girls. (j 


S2 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

pared,” answered Mam’ selle eagerly, leaning a 
little closer towards Midge’s eyes. “But that 
was not all. Oh, it was so far from being all ! 
She was so beautiful, so wonderful in her soul. 
It was like a little piece of heaven; as if one had 
seen part of what will be there. ’ ’ 

Mam’ selle stopped suddenly and drew back. 
After all, she ought not to talk too much about it 
to a child and a stranger like Midge. 

“Only,” she added, with another of those 
quick smiles of hers, “it is such a strange thing 
how the good God seems to stay closer since he 
took her away. Ah, que c'est merveilleux P ’ 

Midge had never heard any one say, “ C’est 
merveilleux ’ ’ before, but somehow there was no 
mistaking what it meant. 

She turned slowly to go out, with her little 
roll of ribbon that “Hdloise had bought” held 
reverently under a corner of her shawl. Buying 
ribbon for Jim’s birthday was too much of an 
affair for Midge’s every-day cape, and the shawl 
was seeing the light of a week-time as a great 
event. 

As she took the door-latch in her hand, Miss 
Stacy was just reaching up to it from outside. 
Midge stepped shyly back and waited till she had 
come in, then slipped through the half-open door, 
and was gone. 


THE BON MARCH& 


83 

But not before Miss Stacy had “taken her 
in,” as Fanny called it, with one of her swift, 
clear looks. 

“There’s that queer little object that passed 
the house Sunday afternoon,” she said. “She ’s 
got a soul in those brown eyes of hers, though. I 
wish Fanny’s would wake up to be half as much 
alive. ’ ’ 

There was no need of any such wish for Main’- 
selle’s, though. They had caught sight of the 
little basket and the fringed corner hanging out. 

‘ ‘ Oh, you are too kind ! I know what you 
have done. There is deliciousness inside ; I can 
tell that. And there are so many times already 
that you have done it. I shall have nothing ever 
to give back. I must have one look at once, how- 
ever. I cannot wait.” 

Mam’selle’s face was radiant, and her pretty 
hands were slipping the cover off for a sly peep. 

“Yes, beautiful to look at also! I knew it;” 
and she looked into Miss Stacy’s face with the 
coyness of a child. 

“But,” she added hastily, with a sudden 
change in her own, “it has been heavy for you. 
You are fatigued; I shall bring you out a seat.” 

Miss Stacy laughed. 

‘ ‘ Peaches enough for one are no very great 
weight,” she said. 


84 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

A quick look of pain dashed the brightness out 
of Mam’selle’s face. 

“Yes, it is always for one; that is true,” she 
said, with a smile that made Miss Stacy wish she 
would cry instead. “You cannot think how I 
long sometimes for some one to share. Do you 
think the good God will ever give me one again? 
Even in Paradise, Heloise could not be happy 
without some one to share. I share with her 
there in thinking of her joy, but I need some one 
here, some one to share the sunshine and the 
fruits, and to give me back when I smile. Do 
you not see?” and Mam’selle stretched out her 
hands to Miss Stacy with the palms up, as if to 
show her that they were empty still. 

“ Blunderer !” said Miss Stacy impatiently to 
herself. “Couldn’t you even bring her a few 
peaches without spoiling them all by saying the 
wrong thing?” 

But Mam’selle was smiling again in spite of 
her pretty eyelashes being wet. 

“ Yes, He will do it, I think, some time. He 
does not forget it is hard for me staying alone. I 
know that from his coming closer himself. That 
is to make up, I know. Ah, what sweet help it 
is! Cest merveilleux ! Still, if there were some 
one to wr-t-ap in my arms — ’ ’ 

Mam’selle folded them across her breast with 


THE BON MARCHE. 85 

a quick, hungry pressure, and a roll of her French 
r in the wrap that said twice as much as an Eng- 
lish one would. Then suddenly dropping them 
again, she started towards the curtain that divi- 
ded her little sewing-room from the shop. 

“I was to bring you a chair,” she said. “I 
am a stupid, it is true. ’ ’ 

“Eet me just go inside,” said Miss Stacy. 
“It’s early yet; perhaps no one will want you 
just now.” 

‘ ‘ I think — there is already some one — perhaps 
you would not care,” said Mam’selle, hesitating- 
ly, stepping to her own little opening and glan- 
cing inside. Then she pushed the curtain back 
a little way on its rings. 

“No, there is no one. Come in. A customer 
wished to rest, but she has passed out. It is 
strange. I noticed 110 one go. There were two, 
herself and the child. Ah, such a sweet, fair- 
haired thing — the little one ! What joy to cher- 
ish it ! One cannot think. See, here is a 
seat.” 

“No, Hike this.” 

Few words and quick movements were Miss 
Stacy’s way. She always liked the corner of 
Mam’selle’s little lounge, and as some strips of 
chintz, just torn for the needle, were tossed upon 
it in a light pile, she quietly took them in hand. 


86 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


“You don’t mind my throwing this to the 
other end, ’ ’ she said. 

She lifted it, then stopped, started, looked at 
Mam’selle, and stood still. 

“What’s that /” she exclaimed, in a quick, 
incisive tone that she could use now and then. 

Mam’selle started too, came and looked, and 
then stood stiller than Miss Stacy, her eyes grow- 
ing wider and wider at every breath. 

“She has forgotten it ! It had fallen asleep. 
She will be coming back. She did not disturb 
it. That is it, of course,” she said at last. 

“ Forgotten !” echoed Miss Stacy. “What ’s 
that?” and she glanced at a bit of paper pinned 
to the child’s arm. 

She pulled it off and held it before Mam’selle’s 
eyes. Mam’selle read it slowly, as if she had 
never seen letters before. 

“ This little one is given up by its mother for 
ever, if it is only received by you.” 

Miss Stacy started towards the door. “Which 
way did she go? She cannot have got far!” But 
Mam’selle put a hand upon her arm. Miss Stacy 
would not have believed those fingers of Mam’- 
selle’s could have held with such a grip. 

‘ ‘ Wait !’ ’ she said. Her other hand was pressed 
close and sharp upon her breast, and you could 
hardly see that she breathed. 


THE BON MARCHE. 


§7 


“ But I can’t wait !” said Miss Stacy excited- 
ly. “There’s no time to be lost. The woman 
may be a mile away already;” and she unclasped 
the fingers that were holding her arm with a de- 
termined movement of her own. 

Mam’selle turned suddenly upon her. Were 
those Mam’selle’s pretty eyes, with a light that 
could almost be called fierce shining out of them 
all at once ? 

“Hush !” she said. “The child is not yours. 
Do you not see she has left it entirely to me?” 


88 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BEE HATHAWAY’S. 

ThERE was no trouble about Fanny Stacy’s 
eyes “ waking up to be half as much alive as 
Midge’s” when she heard what had happened to 
Mam’selle. 

“ A child ! Not really left to her? I knew 
something had happened by the curve that fine 
Roman of yours had taken on when you came in. 
She isn’t going to keep it, though ! You can’t 
really imagine she will?” 

Miss Stacy certainly had a great deal of ex- 
pression in those thin, finely-cut nostrils of hers, 
and they grew thinner than ever just now ; but 
there was a strangely tender look about her mouth 
at the same time. 

“There’s not much room for imagination, 
Fanny. You might as well ask if a dove was 
going to shelter a little one in its nest. A dove 
or on eagle, I don’t know which,” she added, 
with a laugh, as she remembered Mam’selle’s 
grip upon her arm. 

“An eagle ! Why, an eagle’s fierce.” 

“Yes, a little so when the proper time comes. 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


89 

However,” and the tender look got the mastery 
altogether at last, “it is the very thing above all 
others poor little Mam’selle would have asked. 
It ’s a lonely life there now at the ‘Bon Marche,’ 
and a brave, sweet soul that’s bearing it. It 
needs just such a thing to come in to make sun- 
shine again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But how could the woman know that ?’ ’ 

“ She couldn’t. It was an outrageous thing, 
a criminal thing, to do. She ought to be overta- 
ken and made to repent;” and for a moment Miss 
Stacy looked swift justice again. 

“Oh, well,” said Fanny, dropping back into 
the recesses of her easy-chair with a sudden yawn, 
“don’t bother ; let her go. I ’ m glad Mam’ selle ’ s 
got something she likes; she’s awfully nice. 
Only, I don’t see why, if some people have ‘the 
very thing above all others that they would have 
asked’ put right in their way, some other peo- 
ple — just little nobodys like myself — shouldn’t 
have the same luck. kittle nobodys can have 
‘ desires of their hearts,’ as well as greater folk.” 

‘ ‘ Could you put your finger on the desire of 
yours long enough to tell what it is?” asked her 
sister, with a slight sarcasm in her turn. 

“ Can I?” echoed Fanny, lifting her eyebrows 
into an expressive curve. “Just having a good 
time, somehow, anyhow — I don’t know that it 


90 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

matters much. There goes that Comfortable- 
Club Dick with his pony again. Comfortable 
enough, I should say ! Lou, I’ve a great mind I 
will get up a club of our own — we girls — why 
should n’t we?” 

“Do,” said Miss Stacy, with the same little 
meaning inflection in the words. ‘ ‘ And call it 
‘ The Good-Times Girls. ’ ’ 

Fanny sat motionless, book in hand, and looked 
at her sister without a word. Then she stood up 
and gazed at her, motionless still. “Lou,” she 
said slowly at last, “isn’t that the brightest idea 
you ever had in your life?” 

Miss Lou gave her a quick, curious look. 
Anything would be a bright idea that would 
really rouse her up. 

“I didn’t know how you’d like it,” she an- 
swered, still with a little dryness in her tone. 
“To have a good time often calls for quite an 
exertion, you know.” 

“Does it?” echoed Fanny, with another lift 
of her eyebrows, and a shrug to give it extra 
force. “Well, that’s hard fate; but just give me 
something worth ‘exerting’ for, and I’ll try it, 
for once. One little once wouldn’t be sure to 
break me down, would it, Lou?” and she left 
the room, humming a quicker air than her sister 
had heard from her in many a day. 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


91 


“ I wonder if it’s possible the child has taken 
a new notion into her head,” she said, as she 
watched her through the door. “It’s useless to 
attempt giving her one, but once let her get hold 
of it herself, and she’s a determined little piece. 
Anything, almost, I should be glad to see that 
would take her out of that easy-chair of hers. ’ ’ 

There was determination, if nothing more, in 
the step with which she ran down stairs and out 
at the front-door just afterwards, only stopping to 
put her head into the library as she passed. 

“Good-by. I’ll let you know if I find it,” 
she said, and the next moment she was passing 
the window with a step that might have been 
Miss Stacy’s own for the quick taps it was giving 
the broad old flags. 

“She thinks I haven’t got it in me to have a 
good time,” she said. “Perhaps I haven’t. I 
hate blustering about, that’s true. Still, if some- 
thing could be put right in my hand ! It does 
get so stupid sometimes. I wonder where white 
ponies come from. Life would be just full and 
running over if I could have one like that little 
Dick’s. I suppose Lou thinks I should be too 
lazy to ride it if I had. I wonder how that would 
be ! But if there is any good time in a club, 
those boys are not going to have it all to them- 
selves any longer; that’s settled, so far.” 


92 the: good-time;s gires. 

Round the corner, down the next street, then 
over a crossing, and one more turn. Fanny was 
dropping into her own very deliberate step again ; 
“it was too much bother” to walk so fast, and 
there was no hurry, after all. It was ten chances 
to one Bee Hathaway wouldn’t be at home, and 
she would have to wait for her till she came. 
But she would wait though. She would see what 
she would say to a club, now that she had once 
determined to try. 

But no, there was Bee’s head just bobbing 
past the lace window-curtain in her room. Fan- 
ny had given one glance towards it just in time 
to see. 

“ Can I go right up?” she asked, as the wait- 
ress opened the door. There was always the 
same waitress at the Hathaways’ for years, with 
her freshly-starched white apron and her tidy 
collar and cuffs. This morning her yellow hair 
was put back under a little ruffled sweeping-cap, 
with a blue bow at the top and side. The bow 
wasn’t even ribbon; it was only silicia pinked or 
fringed, or something of the sort, but there was 
a jaunty, rather dainty, look about it, after all. 

“What a nice little thing Millicent is,” 
Fanny thought as she passed. “Somehow she 
seemed nicer than usual this morning. I wonder 
if it was the cap? I don’t think it was. ’Twas 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


93 

a look of some kind that she had in her face, 
as if I had happened on just the right time. 
I wonder if there’s any surprise. There are 
voices enough up there, at least. May Llewel- 
lyn’s is one, and the other — I should say that 
was — ’ ’ 

She was at the top now, and one glance 
into the room showed that her guess w^as right. 
Barbie Vandyke had come. She stood half 
bewildered, a moment, and then flew across the 
room. 

“You dearest old thing! Just let me get one 
good hug ! O Bab !” 

“Easy there, Fan,” laughed Bee. “I never 
saw you do anything in such a hurry in my life.” 

“Well, you were in no hurry, at least, to tell 
me you were expecting Bab !” answered Fanny, 
releasing Barbie half reluctantly at last. 

“Didn’t know it myself. Can’t I be treated 
to a surprise for once, as well as anybody else? 
It’s awfully jolly, isn’t it? Now nobody need 
tell me ‘awfully’ wont do. Just let me say it 
this once. The occasion calls for a good deal, 
do n’t it, Bab?” 

“Perhaps,” answered Barbie, but that was 
all she said; and she stood just where Fanny had 
found her and left her, only smiling quietly, and 
smoothing the end of a ribbon P A anny’s hug had 


94 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


crumpled, with a self-possessed, easy movement 
of a peculiarly shaped hand. 

“Did you ever see anything like the serene 
calmness that creature can put on ?’ ’ asked Bee. 

‘ ‘ Admire it, but strive not to imitate. It were in 
vain. ’ ’ 

“Only it isn’t put on,” said May Llewellyn 
quietly. “That’s the very pinch. It’s part of 
herself. That’s the reason the rest of us can’t 
do it.” 

Fanny had stepped slowly back to a chair, 
and her languid air was coming on again. 

“She’s a mystery,” she said quietly, gazing 
at Barbie. “She never does anything, or says 
anything, unless she likes, and yet here are all 
the rest of us always buzzing round her like 
honey-bees round a fl — ” 

“ Oh, hush !” interrupted Barbie, with a blush 
rising quite up to her hair. She was fifteen, and 
her dresses were getting almost long, but her hair 
was still combed straight back from her forehead 
and hung between her shoulders in one glossy, 
enormously heavy braid. That was Bab’s only 
beauty, some people said, but her figure was tall 
and well formed, her hand was supple and par- 
ticularly well shaped, and somehow, in looking 
at her face, one never had time to see much but 
her eyes. They were clear and bright to their 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


95 


very depths, and had a way of fastening other 
people’s to them, and of doing a good deal of 
Barbie’s talking for her besides. 

“ Yes, hush ! But she ’s going to stay ! She ’s 
going to stay a delicious long time, ’ ’ echoed Bee, 
going off into a sudden pirouette and fantastic 
whirl round the room, to the gay humming of 
words no one had ever heard before: 

“ Oh, would it were 

So fair and long a day, 

My raven tresses might, 

Beneath its lengthened light, 

Turn slowly — slowly — slowly gray.” 

This brought a full chorus of bravos, for Bee’s 
hair wouldn’t bear being called “light” or 
“fair,” or any of those charitable names. It 
was just tow-color, and that was all its best friend 
could say, and frizzled itself in a queer way 
without any help. 

She didn’t care what color it was, though, a 
row of pins, and neither did any one else. If it 
had been blue or pink, life would have been just 
as merry to her — perhaps more so, for it would 
have made one more thing to get merriment out 
of; and as for her friends, it was no use thinking 
of woes when Bee was about. She had some 
absurd turn ready to give, or the clouds vanished 
for very shame with so much sunshine dancing 
about. 


95 


the: good-times girds. 


“That’s original, Bee. Now confess. You 
never could have hunted up anything so appro- 
priate as that. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, yes, I could.- There’s something about 
a nose ‘tip-tilted like a flower,”’ answered Bee, 
with a toss of that indescribable member of her 
own, and another whirl round the room. It was 
a nondescript nose, it must be confessed, and not 
very much of it at the best, but such as it was, 
“tip-tilted” was certainly the last epithet that 
could fairly be applied. 

“Come, Bee, come and be quiet, do,” said 
May. “ I want to talk to Bab. I believe you ’d 
have a good time in a desert, and I like to see 
you do it, but you are a little distracting some- 
times.” 

Fanny started. Coming upon Barbie had 
really driven business for the moment out of her 
mind. 

“That reminds me, girls!” she exclaimed. 
“That’s the very thing I came to talk about. 
There’s so much desert and so precious little good 
time. I want to have something done about it.” 

“ Hear ! hear !” cried Bee, stopping her flour- 
ish and gazing into Fanny’s face with her own 
drawn into awe-stricken lines. 

“It’s tiresome. There’s always an easy-chair 
and a book, it’s true, but they get dull in spite of 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


97 


themselves at last. Do let us get up something. 
There ’s nothing anybody can do alone, but half 
a dozen together. There are those boys, now. I 
wouldn’t have them know it ‘for the Indies,’ as 
Dou says, and I wouldn’t imitate them, but I do 
think it is tantalizing to see them ‘ go on ’ as they 
do.” 

Bee clasped her hands before her and stood 
looking the meek inquirer to perfection before 
Fanny’s chair. 

“Would you graciously stoop to tell me who 
4 those boys ’ may be, and what their manner of 
‘going on’?” 

Fanny laughed in spite of herself. 

“I did leave rather a wide sweep, didn’t I? 
I mean the ‘ Comfortable Club,’ that’s all. What 
they do, I don’t know, of course. They probably 
make a great secret of that ; but as to the way 
they do it, I should say it was like a set of 
princes, so far as I can see — sending their mes- 
senger up and down the streets on a white horse, 
as one little item, you know. We couldn’t hope 
for any such grandeur as that. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Who are the Comfortable Club ? or what 
are they, if you’ll stoop to tell me something, as 
well as Bee?” asked Barbie, tucking a card of 
rose -colored embroidery -silk into a little side- 
pocket that she wore, and opening a dainty scrap 

Good-Times Girls. y 


98 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

of work. Barbie’s fingers were always using up 
odd minutes, and the ‘ ‘ scraps ’ ’ had a marvellous 
way of growing and blossoming out into all sorts 
of bewitching things that made her the envy of 
the other girls when Christmas was drawing near. 
Somehow their work seemed to come all in a hur- 
ry-skurry when that season came, and Bab had no 
end of patterns that they wanted to use, if there 
only had been time. 

“It’s just Geoff Stuyvesant and Wad Weeks, 
and a few of that set, and two little Forsyth boys 
that you don’t know, and some more. I heard 
some of the others talking about it one day. I 
didn’t ask any questions, but I know they have 
a good time ; and of course we could find some 
way to do it, as well as they, if we under- 
took.” 

Bee broke out into one of her contagious, bub- 
bling, hearty laughs. 

“Find a way to have a good time!” she 
echoed. ‘ ‘ I have a good time from morning till 
night every day of my life.” 

“ I know it. You ’ ve got a fairy godmother, 

I do believe, that’s given you a spell to make 
everything look like diamonds and pearls. But 
the rest of us have to put the colors on for our- 
selves.” 

“Now, Fanny Stacy!” interrupted May, “do 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. 


99 

you really mean to say that you don’t know what 
those club-boys are about all this time ?’ ’ 

“Have n’t the first glimmering ray of an idea. 
Have you?” 

“Why, they just go about among sick people 
and poor people and uncomfortable people in gen- 
eral, and try to smooth things down. I thought 
everybody knew. Is that what you want to 
do?” 

Fanny sat transfixed with wide eyes gazing at 
May. 

“Now you’ve got a surprise !” laughed Bee. 
“Those bangs of yours are almost standing on 
end.” 

“But that isn’t really it, May? You’re jo- 
king; of course you are. How did you ever find 
out?” 

“ Find out ? Where were you when they gave 
Uncle Poll a concert a year ago? Didn’t you go 
to that ?” 

Fanny shook her head. 

“ Oh, it was the week you went to the White 
Mountains; that’s true. Why, they told it all 
there — they had to ; and I have heard of one or 
two things they ’ ve been doing since. They look 
out for everybody’s comfort but their own, or as 
well as their own. I guess that’s it; and it keeps 
them busy as bees. ’ ’ 


100 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


Fanny lifted her shoulders with a long, slow, 
expressive shrug. 

“Well, I said before I didn’t wish to play 
humble imitator to their lordships. They’re 
quite welcome to their way, and we can try one 
of our own. I think ‘The Good-Times Girls’ 
could enjoy themselves, as well as ‘ The Com- 
fortable Club.’ ” 

“The Good-Times Girls ! Good !” echoed a 
chorus of Fanny’s listeners. The name seemed 
to take, and there was a murmur of applause. 

“I think it would be just splendid!” began 
May, growing excited. “A club ! Of course it 
would. And while Barbie is here would be the 
very time. Only, what should we do ?’ ’ 

For some strange reason there was silence after 
this question. May looked at Barbie, Barbie 
looked at Bee, and then they all looked, as by 
one consent, at Fanny again. 

“What could we, Barbie?” asked Fanny at 
last, with a slight dash of meekness in her tone. 

“Anything you liked, I suppose,” answered 
Bab, with another of her “calm” smiles, holding 
her scrap of embroidery off for a one-sided look. 

“ We /” repeated Fanny. ‘ ‘ Anything we like. 
Does that mean you wouldn’t join?” 

“Of course it don’t,” said Bee. “She al- 
ways joins, and that’s what makes her so jolly 


BEE HATHAWAY’S. IOI 

nice. She can’t think in a minute, though, I 
suppose, any more than the rest of us. Let’s 
have three-quarters of a second, please, O fair 
propounder of lovely plans, to collect our ideas. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Tableaux ?’ ’ ventured May. 

“Oh, tableaux are three weeks’ work for an 
hour’s fun,” answered Fanny, settling back in 
her chair. 

“If we could own something together,” May 
tried again. ‘ ‘ 1 knew some girls who had a boat, 
once, but they said it was real hard work, and 
blistered their hands, till they got used to it, at 
least. ’ ’ 

“That wouldn’t do, then,” said Fanny, her 
shoulders giving another involuntary lift. 

‘ ‘ How would you like to make it a walking 
club, and go off distances, so many times in a 
month?” tried Barbie at last. “Take lunches, 
you know, and make a sort of picnic at the end ?” 

There was another silence after this proposal; 
everybody waited for everybody else. 

“Cold weather’s coming on, Bab,” said May 
at last. “Suppose we make it a variety club, 
and a walk could come in once in a while.” 

“Then we should have to be just racking our 
brains all the time to think what to do next,” 
said Fanny, in a dissatisfied tone. “That would 
be just as much bother as anything else. I hate 


102 


the: good-times girds. 


bother. I ’d like to have something peacefully 
arranged, and then let it just take care of itself. ” 

Another chorus broke from the audience at 
this. 

“ Luxurious soul!” bubbled Bee in great glee, 
and then, striking an attitude before Fanny’s 
chair, she began solemnly whirling one of her 
closed fists round and round with a grinding 
motion upon some imaginary object before her. 
Bee was as small for fifteen as Barbie was tall, 
and her fist, when once doubled, didn’t amount 
to much. 

‘ ‘ What are you doing, Bee ?’ ’ asked Fanny at 
last, a little discomposed. 

“Wind it up, and let it ‘take care,’ that ’s all! 
It only wants to be set going, you know. ’ ’ 

“ Sit down, Bee,” said Barbie, reaching out a 
hand and drawing her quietly over to the other 
side. “We can’t have nonsense in business meet- 
ings; it wont do. Now I ’ll tell you what / think. 
I think we might have a club that would be love- 
ly, and do all sorts of nice things; but I think, to 
have a very good time, there ’d be always some- 
thing coming up, or every now and then, where 
we should want help cutting out something or 
getting up something, you know. If there was 
somebody, grown up, that would advise us and 
suggest, or lend just a little touch here and there, 


BEK HATHAWAY’S. 103 

then I think it would go along beautifully. Do n’ t 
you ?’ ’ 

Fanny looked doubtful. 

“’T would n’t be really ‘girls,’ then, if we 
did that. Couldn’t we get along alone? It 
would be enough nicer if we could. And I do n’t 
know any one who would trouble herself, I’m 
sure. ’ ’ 

“Would n’t Miss Lou?” 

Fanny’s lips puckered themselves into a very 
pretty shape, but it was a shape meant to produce 
a whistle, for all that. 

“ She ’s been trying to get me to have a good 
time ever since I can remember, but she’s in such 
a hurry about it all. I don’t believe we could 
keep up.” 

“ She wouldn’t want us to, more likely,” in- 
terrupted Bee hastily. “Think what a plague 
it would be ! I guess one fifteener is enough for 
Miss Lou; but if she's in a hurry, then a hurry is • 
a nice thing, for she’s just a — oh, dear, I was go- 
ing to say, ‘a brick,’ but I don’t dare use such 
language when Barbie ’s sitting by in that calm- 
ness of hers. What shall I say, Bab ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Dizzy ?’ ’ suggested Fanny. ‘ ‘ Or immense ?’ ’ 

“No, Miss Stacy, neither. The fundamen- 
tal rule of the Good-Times Girls must be, ‘No 
slang.’ The purest, high-bred English only spo- 


104 THE good-times girls. 

ken in the family. Then shall true elevation be 
ours. ’ ’ 

“I don’t see that there are to be any Good- 
Times Girls at all. We can’t hit upon anything 
or decide upon anything except that we might 
stoop to ask some one to help us, and that there 
is n’t any one to ask.” 

“Do you think you really like it?” asked Bar- 
bie, looking up suddenly at Fanny’s rather dis- 
comfited face, and then smoothing her rose-col- 
ored work daintily over her knee. ‘ 1 1 ’in sure we 
could manage it, if you really want to try. We 
might take a day or two to think, and then con- 
sult again. Perhaps we’ll get upon some plan 
that wont need a leader. I suppose we ought to 
be able to take care of ourselves. Only — ” and 
Bab’s smile and the beautiful teeth it showed 
were beauty enough for any face — “ if we should 
want to get up a grand fair in the Hall, or any 
such little movement as that, a leader would make 
us respectable, you know. ’ ’ 

“A fair!” gasped Fanny, with her hands 
clasped. 

“ I know who would be 1-1-lovely N Only, we 
never could ask her in the world!” came in May, 
hanging on the / of her ‘ ‘ lovely ’ ’ until she made 
it two or three. 

“Who?” asked the chorus, but May shook her 


BKE HATHAWAY 7 S. 


105 

head. If there had been any such thing as a cal- 
endar of saints in May’s list of things, she would 
have put Miss Marston at the top, bottom, and 
middle of the list; and as it was, she couldn’t 
quite make up her mind even to suggest her as 
helper to a girls’ club. 

“Never mind; wait till we see, please,” she 
said, hurrying over the difficulty with a confused 
face. 

“There’s some one ringing,” said Barbie. 
“ It must be Helen Fortescue. I promised to take 
a drive with her at twelve, and the clock’s just 
struck. Shall I propose her to the club, or the 
club to her?” and Barbie rolled her embroidery 
and her ball of silk in a tiny handkerchief, and 
rose to go. 

“Yes, it’s Helen’s phaeton,” said Bee, peep- 
ing through the curtain and getting a nod from 
somebody below. “Well, that ’s luxury for you, 
but alas for the rest of us ! Do n’t let any arts or 
persuasions keep you away at dinner.” 


io6 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OVER MT. HOLLY. 

The next day was Jim’s birthday, come at 
last. It was so long that Midge had been watch- 
ing for it, and counting up the days till it should 
be time to get the ribbon, and then counting the 
hours the ribbon must be hidden in the old chest 
of drawers, that it had seemed “like next day 
after never,” Midge said. 

But it had come now. There was no time 
to “celebrate” it in the morning; seven o’clock 
came just as early as on other days, and there 
was always pretty close work to get the dinner- 
pail filled and Jim started off in good time. 

“Now, if we were rich, I know what we’d 
do,” she said with one of her nods, as she stood 
in the door to see him off. 

“What would we, Midge?” 

Jim had got down the steps to the sidewalk, 
but he turned and came up one or two with a 
pleased look. It is pleasant to have a birthday, 
under any circumstances, and then Midge seemed 
to be setting so much by it this time. 


OVER MT. HOEEY. 107 

9 

“We’d have a walk this afternoon, you and 
I would.” 

Jim’s face clouded suddenly. 

“I wish we were rich, Midge. I’ve told you 
that afore.” 

Midge laughed merrily. 

“Now don’t go taking it that way, Jim. 
We’re rich enough. You ’ll think so this after- 
noon,” and she gave one nod after another, this 
time with meaning looks. Jim would see. They 
could have surprises as well as other people, if 
they chose. 

Jim strode away, but his face didn’t light 
again, and his dinner-pail got such swings that 
it was well Midge had squeezed the cover on 
tight. 

“We a' n't rich enough,” he said, as he 
rounded the corner and disappeared from her 
sight. “There was a look in the child’s eyes as 
if she wanted what she was talking about; and 
she does want it, and plenty of other things 
besides. Perhaps now — it isn’t altogether im- 
possible I could get an hour off this afternoon, 
and go with Midge a ways before the sun sets. 
I ’ll see how the work runs and what temper the 
foreman may be in. ’ ’ 

The prospect seemed good at first. The order 
they were filling in Jim’s part of the works was 


108 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

turning out well, and Jim was sure they’d be 
through with it before hours were up; and for 
a few hours Mapes, the foreman, seemed in the 
most promising frame. But as the morning went 
on, he was in and out of the counting-room sev- 
eral times, and each time he came back some- 
thing of the satisfied state of mind seemed to be 
gone. His face grew darker, and his voice went 
up one semi-tone after another, till his orders were 
as sharp and short as on days when things were 
at their worst. 

“No use,” said Jim to himself. “Give it 
up. Something’s wrong in the counting-room, 
that’s plain; and when that’s so, the rest of us 
take our share. It might have come some better 
day though. It’s poor man’s luck, I suppose.” 

Things were not wrong in the counting- 
room exactly; but news of things wrong outside 
had been coming in, one letter after another, 
until Marston of the Mills found it hard to main- 
tain the temper that he considered always befit- 
ting a gentleman and a man who respected 
himself. The counting-room lost its cheerful 
look, then it’s comfortable one, and at last grew 
to seem the dingiest and dreariest old prison a 
man could be shut up in. 

“What do I want to plague my life out with 
these things for?” he exclaimed at last, pushing 


OVER MT. HOLLY. IO9 

a pile of papers out of his sight. ‘ ‘ I suppose I 
should have enough left for food and clothes if I 
gave the whole mill away and made a free man 
of myself, and what do I get more than that now 
for being a slave to the whole thing? There are 
these fellows down stairs — I dare say they envy 
me from the bottom of their souls. I wish they 
could be made to change places a day,” and he 
laughed half maliciously. 

“There’s that Jim Burlock,” he went on. 
“He gave me a queer sort of look this morning 
as I happened to see him go in. He hammers 
away all day with his great fist, and when it’s 
done, it’s done. He’s nothing to worry himself 
about, from New Year’s to Christmas again. 
Heigho ! The only real piece of a day worth 
living I’ve had in a year was that ride with 
Trice the other day. I believe I’ll ask her to 
try it again this afternoon, and throw all these 
plagues to the winds. I think I’ll surprise her 
and do it for once. ’ ’ 

The surprise was a complete success. The 
color came up into Beatrice’s cheeks with a pink 
sweep, and Mars ton of the Mills once more said 
proudly to himself, 

“She ’s as fair a thing as God’s hand ever put 
into this world;” and for one moment he half 
resolved that he would not see the works again 


IIO THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

for a year, and that while that year lasted he 
and Beatrice would see the world together. 

In an instant the resolve had doubled upon 
its half. It was as near to being a whole one as 
such a flash of time could make it. He would 
be a free man for once, and she should not only 
see the world — all that beautiful world that lay 
over the sea — but the world should see her. 

But she was answering him. 

“ Really , papa? This afternoon? And to 
think how many times I had to beg you before, 
and now yon are asking me. I sha’ n’t be a 
sixteenth part of a minute behind the time. Four 
o’clock, did you say ! That will give us two hours 
and a half of daylight, at least. And we’ll 
stretch them, and fill them up to the utmost. 
Every minute shall seem like six. ’ ’ 

Mr. Marston went back to the mill. He 
couldn’t quite make up his mind to leave his 
papers in a heap, after all. He would put them 
away decently for the next day, and Beatrice 
would come down for him there. 

As the clock was on the stroke she was there. 
Thorne had played escort with great pride, and 
ridden his master’s horse. He was holding it 
now, and at the same time carefully looking over 
the outfit, to be sure of every buckle and strap, 
for the third or fourth time. 


OVER MT. HOLEY. 


Ill 


Thorne had a great many sources of pride since 
he had been in the Marston service, but he never 
held his head quite so high as when he was do- 
ing even the smallest service for Miss Beatrice 
herself. 

i “Indeed, and I believe ye’d count it a fine 
thing if Miss Marston would walk over ye to 
reach any place dry-shod,” Nora the cook used 
to say when a fancy that Thorne had been get- 
ting a few more words from the young mistress 
than herself roused a spark of jealousy in her 
breast. 

She always got the same answer, and nothing 
could provoke Thorne into saying anything more. 

“She might need a better bridge, but she 
wouldn’t find a faith fuller and Nora was 
forced to admit to herself that it was true.. 

He stood now, giving Beatrice a quick glance 
from head to foot, and then another to the mill- 
window close by. Twenty of the hands there, if 
they happened to look out, might see how ele- 
o-ant Miss Marston was this afternoon. How her 

o 

hair was gleaming, like pure gold, as the sun 
struck it now ! 

“And a finer form never sat a lady’s horse, 
nor a gracefuller one. I ’ll let any one judge. I 
don’t mind the mill-hands turning their eyes this 
way, if they like. I saw Jim Burlock giving a 


1 12 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

look as we passed his window just now. I hope 
he was n’t contrasting in his own mind with that 
one-sided little thing of his. ’T would be only 
natural for him, though, if he were. It looks 
strange, somehow, that such half-made little crea- 
tures are left to live, sometimes. What will that 
one of Jim’s ever be good for when he gets her 
reared ? 

“ But Miss Marston, now ! There isn’t a day 
nor an hour but her hands are full, and always 
will be, making somebody’s life a comfortabler 
and a richer thing. Why, even to look at her is 
enough to make it that; but she’s full of ways 
and of work too that goes far beyond. It’s a won- 
derful usefulness the L,ord must be planning for a 
creature like that ! 

“Whoa, Princess! Stand still there! Shall 
I shorten your stirrup-strap half a hole or so, Miss 
Marston ?’ ’ he asked. ‘ ‘ It might be a trifle bet- 
ter, I think.” 

“No, thank you, Thorne. You have it just 
right, I believe, as you always have. And there 
conies papa, too, if I don’t mistake. I saw his 
head pass the window. I knew he would n’t keep 
us waiting long. ’ ’ 

Beatrice was right. Pie was out and in his sad- 
dle in a moment more. Thorne let go Princess’ 
head, the impatient animals pressed hard on the 


OVER MT. HOLLY. 113 

reins, turned, passed the mill-windows again, and 
were gone. 

“Yes, there he goes!” muttered Jim, with 
such a fierce plunge at his work that his next 
comrade looked up in surprise. 

“Thee don’t mean to break thy hammer’s 
head off, does thee, Jim?” he said. “What’s 
across thee ?’ ’ 

“Nothing !” answered Jim doggedly. “ Only 
one man may have an airing with his daughter 
on a fine day, and another mayn’t; that’s all. 
It’s all right, I suppose.” 

“Now, papa,” Beatrice was saying gayly, 
“this is your ride. It’s for you to say which 
"way to-day.” 

“Let us take the cut through Mt. Holly, 
then. That will keep us in the saddle until sun- 
set, and I want a good sweep. I’ve half a mind 
not to see that old counting-room again for a 
year !’ ’ 

Beatrice laughed, touched a fly off from Prin- 
cess’ neck, and drew her rein a little more closely 
in hand. 

“I don’t know, r papa — I begin to think it 
would be hard to say which one of this party is 
most pleased with the trip. I thought I was the 
one, but I believe it’s Princess, after all. See 
what a rein I ’m keeping ! But was there ever a 

Good-Tiniee Girls. Q 


1 14 the good-times girds. 

prettier curve to a beastie’s neck ! And Princess 
is feeling her best, too. This was a happy thought 
of yours for all of us. ’ ’ 

“I’m very glad to have you think so, but I 
was looking out for no one but myself, and I find 
a slave does rather enjoy being set free. I wish 
I’d turned all those fellows of mine out of the 
mill for a holiday, too. Why shouldn’t I? It 
would n’t bring the world to an end, or the works, 
either, I suppose.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, do, papa ! Try it, wont you, to-mor- 
row, if it’s as fine as to-day?” 

“ ’ T would n’ t do. They ’ d never come back, 
if they found themselves feeling as I do. They’ll 
have to hammer away, and so shall I. It’s a 
queer world. Now let’s have a run over this 
level stretch.” 

It was the prettiest country in all the region 
around Nortlifield. Tong undulating distances of 
valley, with blue, hazy hill-outlines sweeping 
away at the left; while on the right, Mt. Holly, 
a short range that lay much closer at hand, rose 
in a green wall by their side, its lower slopes 
running almost to the horses’ feet, while its crest 
broke into half a dozen rambling, irregular forms, 
shifting with strange apparent changes as one 
mile after another was passed. 

“Is there a prettier place in the world to live 


OVER MT. HOLEY. I15 

and die in than our little Northfield, take it all 
in all ?’ ’ said Beatrice, as they drew rein at last, 
where a spur of the mountain, really thrust under 
them, gave them a descent to make. 

“I’m afraid you ’re hardly a judge. You ’ll 
have to see a little more to compare it with. You 
didn’t ask what I meant when I threatened not to 
see the mill for a year; didn’t stop to notice it, in 
fact.” 

“What could you mean, papa? Of course I 
care. I thought you were only trifling. A whole 
year, did you say ?’ ’ 

“ Yes, a year would n’t be any too long to show 
you what’s on the other side.” 

“To show met Europe? You can’t really 
mean it, papa ?’ ’ 

“ Europe, Asia, or Africa, as you like. Some- 
thing for a change, at least, and to forget what *s 
left behind.” 

“But I don’t want to forget it, and I’m not 
sure I want to leave it behind. Some time, of 
course, I want to go. ’T would be everything 
lovely, and with you — though I can’t dream 
you’re in earnest — words wouldn’t be of much 
use to say what it would be, but just now — ” 

She hesitated, and looked at him with a bright 
smile, but there was an uncertain, rather troubled 
look in her eyes. 


Il6 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Well, suppose I am in earnest, what then? 
What is there that you don’t want to leave be- 
hind ?” 

“Everything, I’m afraid,” she answered, with 
a little laugh. “That’s the very trouble. If I 
should go away now, I should leave nothing that 
the very humblest Northfielder could lay his hand 
on, if I should n’t come back, and say he was bet- 
ter off for my having done it before I went.” 

Mr. Marston gave her a quick, anxious look. 

“What are you talking about, Trice? You 
don’t want to turn strong-minded philanthropist, 
I hope.” 

“No, papa, you know I don’t. I don’t even 
know what they are; but” — and she leaned to- 
wards him a little, with an earnestness in her 
face — “I ’m afraid I can’t make you understand. 
I wish I could. I have such a feeling that I want 
to be at work. I think of the patient, patient life 
of our blessed Saviour, of his weary feet, his 
busy hands, his thought and his sympathy that 
never failed — it was so long, so sorrowful, and he 
never tired — and now, when he says there are 
things we can do for him in return — do n’ t you 
see, papa?” 

“What things?” asked Marston of the Mills 
quietly, looking back into her face. 

“You know, papa; you know He loves us so 


OVER MT. HOEEY. 


ny 

still, that whatever we can do for the poorest he 
feels as if done for him. If there’s a sorrowful 
life to comfort, or a darkened one to light, or a 
weary one to rest ever so little — you know. And 
they’re all around us, aren’t they, dear papa? 
Don’t you see them every day? And there are 
so many who don’t know him, or see him, or 
give him back his love, as he wants them to — if 
we could by any means help that along! And 
I feel as if I had never done anything yet. I ’ ve 
felt more and more ashamed and distressed about 
it. I do long to give him back something so ! 
And I have hoped so much that this next year I 
might accomplish more; you understand, I’m 
sure. It isn’t that I forget it. It isn’t that I 
don’t long for work. If ’twere only the least 
trifle — that ’s all I ever can do, I suppose — but I 
seem to find so little from day to day. ’ ’ 

Mr. Marston gave an uneasy toss to his horse’s 
rein. 

4 1 Come, Trice ! What strange set of notions 
have you been taking up ? I shall have to take 
you to Europe to get rid of them, if nothing else. 
You don’t want to set up a soup kitchen, or con- 
vert the world. Your place is with your friends; 
and they’re satisfied. You don’t consider that 
the Lord of the vineyard is dependent upon us, I 
suppose ?” 


Il8 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

“Dear papa, do n’t!” exclaimed Beatrice, 
quite distressed. ‘ ‘ Of course he can do his own 
work if he will, but there are some things he does 
seem to want us to do. He likes it for some rea- 
son, and he leaves them. And how do I know 
that there’ll be any such work possible after this 
life ? How can I let the days slip away, and not 
make some use of each one? Don’t you remem- 
ber, when our precious Nell died, we thought of 
so many things we might have done that she 
would have liked while she was here, but we felt 
she would be so rich and happy after this there 
would be no chance? Don’t you see what I 
mean ? Oh, I ’m sure you do !” 

Mr. Marston let his horse break its gait with a 
swift start; his daughter Nelly’s name was seldom 
mentioned in his presence, even though six full 
years had passed since her child-life had vanished 
out of the house. 

“That ’s altogether a different thing,” he said, 
with almost a sharpness in his tone. 

“Yes, papa, I know it is different, but it’s a 
little the same, too, it seems to me. If there’s 
anything I can do for Him, I want to make haste. 
I’m so afraid of letting it slip, and ’t would be 
such joy. It ’s so strange that there should be 
anything, anything it could really please him to 
have us do, now that he has ‘entered into his 


OVER MT. HOEEY. 119 

glory.’ Isn’t it, papa?” and her face was turned 
towards him eagerly. 

He had never seen it more beautiful, he 
thought. Her golden hair was blown lightly 
about it, her eyes were shining with happiness, 
and the soft glow in her cheeks was perfect. 

What was the child talking about ? He want- 
ed her to be a good Christian, certainly. He had 
been a church member himself half his life, but 
he didn’t want her getting notions into her head. 

“Why, yes, of course, of course, I suppose 
so. But what do you mean, after all ? I suppose 
what he wants of most of us is to behave our- 
selves, and you always do that. I wish I did 
it half as well. You don’t want to turn Sister 
of Charity, I suppose.” 

A quick half-grieved look came into her eyes, 
but she drove it away and laughed gayly. 

“Oh, I’m not half good enough for that! 
Only I wish I knew better what I can do. Of 
course there are little things every day, but they 
are such trifles. I know he doesn’t despise them, 
but I do long to do more. And I have so much 
time. If I live, and you live, you’ll help me, 
wont you, papa? You’ll help me find more 
work? Perhaps, mightn’t there be something 
among the hands?” 

She had leaned towards him again earnestly. 


120 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

He struck liis horse a restless blow with his 
whip. If Beatrice, young as she was, and full of 
sweet ways and kindnesses from morning to 
night, wanted more work for Christ, what ought 
he to be doing, a strong rich man, with all those 
operatives in his employ ? He wondered if they 
needed any help about the salary, down at the 
little mill-hands’ church. He would try to ask 
to-morrow, if it didn’t slip his mind. But Bea- 
trice ! What did any of them want that he could 
let her do ? 

‘ ‘ I rather think, Trice, most of us have about 
as much work as we can attend to in ourselves, 
if we should come up to the mark of straighten- 
ing ourselves out. Is n’ t there a verse somewhere 
about being 

“ ‘ More careful than to serve Thee much, 

To please Thee perfectly?’ ” 

The light in her eyes clouded again: it was 
with a troubled look this time. 

“I know it, papa; I’ve thought of it a hun- 
dred times, and I know I’mso far from ‘pleasing 
perfectly.’ But it can’t mean we shouldn’t 
work too; of course it can’t. I must get my 
hands fuller, somehow. You’ll think of some- 
thing for me, wont you, papa?” 

“Yes. Take me out of that old tread-mill 


OVER MT. HOIyRY. 


121 


down there, and help me off for a year’s rest. 
I ’m getting ground to powder down there. There 
wont be soul enough left of me to help you or 
any one else before long, I believe. I’ve just 
found it out.” 

It was Miss Marston’s turn to start now, and 
she gave him a quick, excited look. 

“You, papa! You want it and need it? 
Of course I’ll go, to-morrow! I thought you 
were only inviting me. I could wait; I might 
do something else first; but you! But there’s 
mamma. How could you need me too?” 

“Your mother? She wouldn’t cross that 
‘ big pond ’ for all the holidays in life. Come, 
shall we call it settled? Would you like it, 
Trice?” 

“Hike it !” and her eyes were shining again, 
clear enough to satisfy even him. “O papa! 
If you’re sure you want it — sure it’s the best 
thing to do — it would hold more than all the 
years put together that have gone before. To 
see Europe, and have you to myself besides!” 

“So you’ll call it ‘work,’ looking after me, 
for once, will you Trice?” said Marston of the 
Mills, looking at her with a gratified pleasure 
that he seemed half trying to hide. “I don’t 
call myself a heathen, exactly, but it may give 
you something to do, after all. I haven’t been 


122 


the: good-time;s girts. 


looked after for so long, I’ll make the most of it, 
I promise you. It ’s more luxury than I ’m used 
to, ’ ’ and the lines of hard work softened a shade 
or two already in his face. 

Beatrice saw it, and it brought a quick rush 
of moisture to her eyes. She stretched out a 
gauntleted hand with a gay little salute. 

“As if I wouldn’t rather have you for a ‘sub- 
ject’ than any one else in the world!” she said. 
“Only you’ll promise to help me to fresh ones 
when we come back. And don’t forget the holi- 
day for the mill-hands to-morrow, if the weath- 
er ’s like this. Hark ! we can just hear the six 
o’clock bell echo all these miles away ! That’s 
the old bell, I ’m sure.” 


MIDGE’S surprise party. 


123 


CHAPTER X. 

MIDGE’S SURPRISE PARTY. 

IT was the old bell, just the faintest jar of its 
great clang on the air, that the quick ear of Bea- 
trice caught. The hands were just pouring, 
smutty and hot, from the great gate, and Midge 
stood outside waiting eagerly for Jim. They 
were to have tea in their own room that night, 
besides the bouquet, for a surprise. Midge had 
got everything ready, and though it seemed as if 
the time never would come, it had come at last, and 
she hurried Jim home through the shortest streets. 

“Come! You’re making swift work of it. 
I thought you wanted a walk,” he said at last; 
and then as Midge opened the door, “Hallo, little 
’un, what’s this? I haven’t been working 011 
Sunday, have I, now?” 

Midge clapped her brown hands with glee. 
Jim was as surprised as her heart could wish. 

“ Now you know what it is. You know it’s 
for the birthday, Jim. And if you could make 
haste, just a little, please, while the chocolate is 
hot.” 

‘ c Chocolate !’ ’ echoed J im triumphantly. “ I ’ 11 


124 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

make haste for chocolate, sure enough. You 
have a way of thinking of things, that’s a fact.” 

Jim disappeared, and Midge listened till she 
heard his door close. 

“He's safe,” she said, and slipped with a 
beating heart to the old cupboard at the end of 
the room. The flowers had been left in water 
there till the last minute, in a little china mug of 
her mother’s, with “Remember Me” in gilt 
letters on the side; the stems must be wiped off 
now, and the ribbon tied on with exactly the 
right knot. 

She closed her fingers on the knot, and then 
pushed it back again with a start. Jim was 
coming! No, he wasn’t! What a silly she was. 

He came at last, though, his face shining 
with its scrub, and his Sunday clothes on — the 
full suit. 

“Now I guess I’m even with you, Midge!” 
he said. 4 1 1 guess I’ve given you a surprise now. 
Hallo! what’s this?” 

Midge was holding her breath. The ribbon 
had taken exactly the right knot, and the bou- 
quet lay in the very centre of Jim’s plate. 

He looked at it curiously, and then back again 
at Midge, put out his hand to take it, and then 
drew away, as if his clumsy thumb and fingers 
could n’t be the right thing. 


midge’s surprise-party. 125 

“Take it! take it!” cried Midge, in an ecsta- 
sy. “After tea it’s going to be pinned straight 
on your coat. That’s what it’s for — the ribbon, 
I mean.” 

Jim took it up this time by the very tip of the 
stems, and held it softly against the lappet of his 
coat. 

“Well, you do think of things, Midge!” he 
said at last, with a shy little laugh. “ It ’s a way 
you have; and I know how it came to you, too. 
You didn’t get it from me. Midge, isn’t this 
almost too fine for such a rough one as I ? It 
would have fitted better on her .” 

“ It is n’t a bit too fine. Do n’t you suppose I 
know?” 

“ But where did you get all this ribbon?” he 
asked, venturing a cautious touch of the end 
Midge had fringed out. 

“It’s only a little piece. I got it at the Bon 
Marche. Now let’s have supper, Jim, and I’ll 
tell you about it by-and-by.” 

Midge thought the sunset was celebrating too 
that night. It promised to be the finest one they 
had had all summer, but Jim kept looking away 
from it, after all. He was n’ t used to being dec- 
orated, and his eyes kept going down to his rib- 
bon and flowers. 

“It was a queer thing to think of — ribbon. 


126 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

Where did you say you got it, now?” he asked 
at last. 

“At the Bon Marchd;” and then Midge gave 
the promised story of her visit to Mam’selle. 

Jim listened with his black eyes full on hers. 

“Now that’s pretty rough, isn’t it, Midge? 
Dead, did you say — her Douise — and she square 
alone? You nor I couldn’t stand that very well; 
eh, Midge !” 

“Hush, Jim!” said Midge reproachfully. 
“You oughtn’t to speak of such a thing.” 

Jim put his hand under Midge’s brown pointed 
chin and held it a moment looking in her face. 

“It might be, though, little ’un,” he said 
gently. “ But I wont say it if you ’d rather not,” 
and he turned to the sunset again. 

It was in its very hottest glow just now — crags 
and castles and mountain-tops piled and tumbled 
together in amber and red, with purple bars slant- 
ing across a little way below. Then the purple 
bars grew darker, the amber and red began to 
fade, and castles and crags to sink and drift into 
each other’s shapes. 

“Jim,” said Midge softly, “do you suppose 
He really does?” 

“Does what? Who?” asked Jim, starting as 
if he had forgotten where he was. 

1 1 Come closer. Do you suppose he really 


midge’s surprise-party. 127 

comes closer — the good God — because she’s left 
alone?” 

Jim looked at her wonderingly. 

4 4 How ever can I tell, Midge ? They say such 
things in the church ; they tell you he gets near; 
but when it comes to knowing , that’s different 
altogether.” 

44 /know!” said Midge, with one of her quick 
nods; ‘‘/know he comes, for I’ve felt him 
plain.” 

44 You have?” repeated Jim, as if he were 
dreaming. 4 4 When ?’ ’ 

44 Sometimes,” answered Midge, looking back 
into his eyes. 44 Once when I had the lilies Miss 
Marston sent. It was in the night that time. ’ ’ 

Jim sat looking at her, slowly drawing his 
hand away from hers, as if she were something 
he should not touch. After all, if there was such 
a thing true at all, Midge was the most likely one 
he knew of to have it come to her. 

44 1 wish we know’d more about it, though, 
Jim, you and I,” she went on. “I heard one 
minister say it’s the same as the Lord Christ, and 
that he’s waiting outside, as if he knocked. I 
wish we know’d!” 

Jim sat a moment or two, still looking ear- 
nestly in her face. Suddenly he started up. 

44 Well, Midge, it seems we don’t. But 


128 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

there’ll be a nice bit of twilight after this. We 
might take a little turn outside yet. ’ ’ 

Midge sprang up with delight. Why hadn’t 
she thought of that before ? 

The shawl came out once more, of course, but 
it didn’t take a minute to get it on this time, 
and they were off. 

‘ ‘ Which way ?’ ’ asked J im. 

Midge pointed towards the Marston place. 

“I’d like to look through the hedge again. I 
a’ n’t quite ready to go in yet, but she’s asked 
me, you know. You can’t think what a feeling 
it gives me, Jim, just to think she’s asked! I 
shall feel as if I darst, some day soon. ’ ’ 


EVIL NEWS. 


129 


CHAPTER XI. 

EVIL NEWS. 

IT was not a long walk, and the hedge soon 
came in sight — the big gate of the driveway, 
too, but there was something strange about that. 
It stood open, and there was a crowd about it, 
gathered there like bees, and looking earnestly 
up the yard as if at some object waited for in 
haste. 

“Now what’s that?” said Jim wonderingly. 
Midge said nothing, but walked on with a strange 
little sense of awe. Something in the look of the 
people gave it to her; she could n’t tell why. 

They had come up to them now. Jim recog- 
nized one or two and gave them a nod. 

“What are you all doing here?” he asked. 
“What are you looking for? The master’s 
home before now from that ride of his, of course.” 

“ No, he a’ n’t,” was the answer. “He a’ n’t 
nor she a’ n’t, what’s worse. Haven’t you 
heard ?’ ’ 

“Heard what?” asked Jim hurriedly, looking 
from one to the other with a quick turn; but at 
that instant there w T as a slight- movement in the 

9 


Good-Times Girls. 


130 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

crowd. The carriage, with both the driving- 
horses, was dashing round the turn from the 
house. Thorne was on the box in undress 
clothes, and only one person, closely veiled, sat 
inside. 

The gazers drew a little away and stood silent 
as the wheels flew past them; they watched the 
carriage a few rods down the street, as if even the 
back of it could speak, and then closed up to- 
gether again. 

“That’s her mother going to her,” some one 
said. “ How silent and still she sat !” 

“Troubles come to the rich, it do seem, as 
well as to us that’s low,” said another voice. 

“Come, now, it mayn’t be so bad, after all,” 
interposed a third. “We haven’t got the story 
altogether straight yet, you know.” 

“What is it?” broke in Jim again, with a 
voice that would be answered this time. 

“It’s the young lady, man,” answered Ben 
Haverly, his nearest comrade at the mills. 
“She’s thrown from her horse somewhere cross- 
ing Mt. Holly Gorge, they say. The master sent 
down word. It just now came to Thorne, flying. 
He hasn’t been five minutes £ince it came — he 
and the missus— and look where they are now ! 
Thee can’t see ’em, scarce.” 

“Now I tell you all it mayn’t be so bad,” 


EVIL NEWS. 


131 

repeated the encouraging voice. “We haven’t 
got particulars yet. ’ ’ 

There was silence a moment, and then another 
voice spoke. 

“ Some say she ’s killed. But there ’s no be- 
lieving things.” 

“ No!” interrupted another. “ I tell you it ’s 
no such thing ! I was the first one told by a 
man that heard the messenger tell Thorne. It’s 
her head, they say. ’ ’ 

“That’s as gentle a beast as ever stepped — 
that filly of hers,” began Ben. 

“Yes, but something gave w’ay, so I hear, 
and the road ’s half a precipice and rough-strewn 
with rocks. The master’s beside himself, they 
say. ’ ’ 

Jim felt a cold, creeping sensation stealing 
over him. He looked round at Midge, as if to 
see if she were there and all safe. She was there 
and safe, but her lips were drawn with a look he 
had never seen on them before-, and her hands 
were clasping each other tight. 

“Took at her!” he said slowly to himself. 
“ There I’ve got her, as well and alive as can be, 
and only two hours ago I was almost hating the 
master for what I hadn’t and he had! Who’s 
the best off and the richest of us now ?’ ’ 

“It’s no use our standing here,” began one 


132 the good-times girls. 

of the spokesmen again. “It’ll be a good hour 
and a half before they get back, maybe more, if 
they bring her at all alive. ’ ’ 

The crowd hesitated a moment. It was true. 
There was nothing more to be seen or heard. 
They separated a little, broke up, and at last 
moved reluctantly away. 

Jim and Midge were among the last, Midge 
holding fast to Jim’s hand, and Ben Haverly 
keeping at their side. 

“Well, mate,” he said, “maybe you wont 
give your hammer-head such a knock another 
time. ’ ’ 

Jim made him a quick gesture to be still, and 
then, as if taking another turn, looked him stead- 
ily in the eyes. 

“ No, I wont !” he said. “I’ve got a lesson 
taught me for once. ’ ’ 

Midge thought he never would say Good-by, 
but he turned a corner at last, and she looked up 
into Jim’s eyes. 

“O Jim, if I’d only dared to go while there 
was a chance !” she said. 

The crowd did not gather again at the Mars- 
ton gate. After the carriage once came back, 
they seemed to feel instinctively that anything 
that could look like curiosity was out of place. 
They were not quite sure yet what the real truth 


EVIL NEWS. 133 

was, but there was trouble enough there to be 
sacred; so far there could be no mistake. 

So only the most interested came through the 
street, one by one, or hung about at little dis- 
tances and waylaid messengers, and got news as 
they could. 

“It’s about as bad as bad can be, I expect,” 
Ben had said, stopping under Jim’s window as he 
went home late. “They ’ve got one of the big- 
gest doctors in the city telegraphed down already. 
Came by the last train. He ’ll be there all night. 
We’ll know in the morning at the mill what he 
says. ’ ’ 

In the morning ! How was Midge ever going 
to wait for that ? She went to bed and lay there 
with her eyes wide open in the dark. Sometimes 
a stand of white lilies seemed to rise, tall and still, 
before them. Sometimes it was a face with a 
fringe of golden hair. 

May Tlewellyn did not even think of going to 
sleep until long after that. She couldn’t — she 
wouldn't — until she could get some news. 

“ O Uncle Jack, I can’t bear it; I must know!” 
she had cried, turning to Uncle Jack, as she always 
did, when any real trouble came up. ‘ ( I must go 
there. Couldn’t I do something? I can’t have 
her hurt and sit down here at home. And I can’t 
even find out what it is. Oh, what shall I do?” 


134 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

Uncle Jack looked at her a moment, drew her 
closer to the light, and took another look. 

“Put on your hat, then,” he said quietly, 
and come with me.” 

She didn’t stop for a question, her hat was 
on before Uncle Jack had even found his fez, and 
they went quickly down the street. 

“ Now, what ’s worth having is worth waiting 
for,” said Uncle Jack, as they reached the Mars- 
ton gate. “You can sit down on that step, or 
walk with me, as you like.” 

As he*turned about, May slipped her hand into 
his arm, and they walked slowly back and forth. 
How tall and dim and shadowy the house looked 
up there under the old elm ! There were lights 
here and there, but they were shaded, and not a 
sound was to be heard. The fountain in the yard, 
keeping on with its murmur and drip, was the 
only break. Sometimes May wished it would 
stop; sometimes she was glad to hear something, 
anything, to help out the miserable stillness of the 
night. 

What did Uncle Jack expect to do? Would 
anybody ever come out ? 

Uncle Jack strode on in silence, glancing now 
and then at the shaded windows, where now and 
then a figure flitted by. At last he looked down 
at May. 


EVIL NEWS. 


*35 


11 We’ll try it a little longer,” he said, “but 
it wont do for you to stay — ” 

Hark ! The front-door was opening. No, it 
was the side-door, and a flood of light was pour- 
ing out and a step coming quickly down towards 
the gate. It was Thorne going to the village for 
something that was required. 

He started when he saw the two figures wait- 
ing close by the gate. 

“What! Is it you, Mr. Llewellyn?” he asked, 
as he made out the outlines through the dark. 

“Yes; we were waiting to catch somebody 
and get a report. We’ve heard nothing reliable 
yet. ’ ’ 

Thorne gave a half-groan, and then started 
and tried to cover it with a different sound. 

“I wish, sir, of heaven’s pity, there were 
nothing to tell! We do n’t really know ourselves, 
not till morning, sir. The doctor from the city, 
he tells the master he don’t think he’ll lose her. 
He don’t think he will!” and Thorne’s voice had 
a sound as if he were begging even Uncle Jack to 
say that the doctor was right. 

“And he’d ought to know, sir,” he went on. 
“ He ’d ought to know. He ’s first-rate authority, 
they say. But it don’t seem there was any need 
of its happening at all. That’s where it’s hard- 
est, I believe. There isn’t a gentler creature in 


136 TH^ good-times girls. 

the State than Princess, nor a surer-footed ; and 
Miss Beatrice was perfect in her seat, and I was 
all over the saddle and bridle looking at every- 
thing myself, sir, before they were off. We can’t 
tell anything about it, except the creature must 
have stepped on a loose bit of rock; the road-bed 
was full of ’em just there,, sir, you know, and a 
steep pitch. But it’s done, anyway, and I don’t 
suppose it matters much how. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, Thorne,” said Uncle Jack. 
“ Come, May, we mustn’t be in the way.” 

He drew her arm closer into his and turned 
away, and Thorne’s step was heard hurrying 
down the walk towards the town. 


A HOLIDAY FOR THE MILL-HANDS. 


*37 


CHAPTER XII. 

A HOLIDAY FOR THE MILL-HANDS. 

The next morning the mill-hands watched 
eagerly to see if the master would be down. How 
would a man look with a trouble like that on 
him? There was a strange feeling of curiosity 
about that, and also a hope of more news. 

He did not come, however, and the counting- 
room showed them nothing but the old book- 
keeper’s head just where they could always see 
it through the great plate-glass window-pane. 

“I’ve got a bit of news at last, though, more 
than the rest,” whispered Ben, as he passed Jim’s 
shoulder when the morning was half gone. ‘ c I 
got it of Mapes, and he ’d just seen Thorne a mo- 
ment ago. The big doctor’s gone, and he says 
she ’ll get through, but ’t will be a long job bring- 
ing of her round. She knows ’em all this morn- 
ing, though, and that’s a gain.” 

“Get through !” repeated Jim. “What does 
that mean?” 

Ben shook his head. 

“Thee can tell as well as I can, mate. It 
means the master wont lose her, at the least; but 


138 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

there’s some as say ’twill be a long day, if ever, 
before she steps again. ’ ’ 

The hands of the mill-clock were drawing 
near to twelve. Jim wished they would move 
faster ; he wanted to get home to tell Midge. 
What a rare day it was overhead ! The whole 
world seemed full of a glory, somehow, outside. 
What a day this would be for a walk! It couldn’t 
be matched, Jim was sure, in a half-year. 

“I hope the little ’un ’s been out for a breath,” 
he could n’t help saying to Ben. “A day like 
this is like a gift of God, it seems.” 

“A gift the many of us can’t altogether use, 
mate,” answered Ben. “I suppose it’s good as 
far as it goes, but if he’d send us likewise and at 
the same time a chance to take wife and babies 
out for a walk, that would be a thing, now ! I 
know more pale cheeks than I could count on my 
fingers that would get rosy at that. ’ ’ 

“Maybe so,” answered Jim doggedly; “but 
I’m done wishing for what I haven’t got.” 

Just then there came a sudden stillness in the 
room. The clock was just ready to strike, and 
the overseer had signalled for a stop. He had 
something to say to the men. 

Miss Marston was improving, and the works 
were to shut down at twelve for a half-holiday to 
all hands. Miss Marston had asked for it, and it 


A HOLIDAY FOR THE MILL-HANDS. 1 39 

was one of the few things she had spoken of to- 
day. 

There was a strange mixture of hurry and 
hanging back in the way the men poured out 
after that. It was a temptation to stop and let 
off a little of the excitement in a few words to- 
gether, and at the same time every minute should 
be made the most of for these few golden hours. 

“ But we wouldn’t ha’ taken it at all, if they 
couldn’t ha’ said she were doing better. We 
couldn’t, could we now, men?” asked a voice 
from among the crowd. 

“No, Hugh Furbish, nor we wouldn’t. But 
what’ll a man like you, with no belongings, 
make of a holiday walk? You’ll have to look 
up a sweetheart; eh, boys?” replied one of the 
men. 

“No, I’ll take no sweetheart. I’ll go and 
see how it is with Tom Macdonald. He and I 
stood mates a year, you know, when he thought 
to take an apprenticeship at the mill. He’ll do 
little more hard hammering in this life, I’m 
afraid, at least not just now\” 

“Well, success to you,” was the answer, and 
the men filed off into different streets and hurried 
away. 

The two or three miles that lay between town 
and the “Rustling Bow r er” corner on the Tan- 


140 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

dry Road were but a small stretcli to Hugh. He 
was lithe and long-limbed, sturdy and strong, and 
the free motion through the crisp fresh air was 
only a pleasure and a rest. 

“That’s a queer-looking little nest Rob and 
Mysie have got so near paid for,” he said, as the 
shaky -topped porch came in sight. “But it’s 
a snug one, though, and will stand them in well 
for their old age. It ’s a sore thing, though, about 
the boys. Tom ’ll have to pull through for their 
sakes, if he can; but he looks more like the oth- 
ers than I wish. He’s got youth and good cour- 
age on his side. I could almost warrant him with 
the help of those.” 

He could see the red chairs in the porch now. 
He thought Rob was in one of them, but he 
was n’ t sure. 

Yes, it was Rob ; he was sure now, and there 
was Tom’s big arm-chair drawn close to the door 
inside, and Mysie had left hers to sit nearer to 
him, though Rob could still keep eyes on her all 
the same. 

“Oh, here you all are!” he said, as he stepped 
across the bit of turf before the porch. . “That ’s 
a right pleasant finding, now, to make three calls 
in one.” 

“Hugh, old fellow, is it you?” exclaimed 
Tom, with such a pleased, gay tone in his voice 


A HOLIDAY FOR THE MILL-HANDS. 141 

that Mysie looked quickly back from Hugh into 
his face. It was eager and wide-awake, with a 
light such as she hadn’t seen in it for months, 
and he was holding out his hand joyously to 
Hugh. 

“ How did you get off at this hour on a week- 
afternoon? You haven’t left that old tread-mill 
and bone-grinder down there, have you ?’ ’ 

“No, no ! We’ve got a half-holiday off, the 
lot of us, and the men are all off on a lark here 
and there. I had n’ t any better friend than you 
to look up, so I’ve come this way.” 

“Good !” said Tom, though he dropped back 
a little already on the pillow that filled out the 
old chair. “It’s a day out of a thousand. It’s 
almost made a new man even of me. ’ ’ 

“Has it? That’s good news. Yes, that’s 
the way we got it, on account of the weather be- 
ing so rare. ’ ’ 

“That’s a good thought and a generous one, 
and lucky for you. Take that red chair there 
and rest yourself, and tell us the news.” 

Hugh hesitated. He had felt like a contempt- 
ible fellow -already, not to speak of Miss Marston, 
and say that it was out of her sick-room that the 
leave came; but he didn’t want to tell anything 
gloomy to Tom. But Mysie started up suddenly 
before there was time for Hugh to decide. 


142 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“Now if you’re going to sit,” she said, “I 
just think I’d like a walk myself. I’m no hand 
to go fra home, but the air is so rare, as you say, 
and I feel a bit change would do me good. If 
you’ll just take my seat and entertain these two 
laddies a while. ’ ’ 

“Now you ’ll make yourself a blessing, Hugh, 
if you ’ 11 do that, ’ ’ said Rob. ‘ ‘ She stays by us too 
close, that woman of mine. She ’ll forget how 
the turf feels under foot, if we do n’ t take care. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I ’ll stay by, never fear. I ’ll not get a 
week-day chance to sit in a porch like this for 
ten years to come, like enough,” answered Hugh; 
and Mysie got down her big bonnet and her blue 
cloth cloak with a Mother Hubbard yoke at the 
neck, and was off ; she was so afraid of Tom’s 
asking where she was so anxious to go. 

“He speirs through everything with those 
eyes of his; he’ll just guess it’s Squire Mount- 
ford I’m going to find,” she said, as she hurried 
away. “Well, if I have good news to bring 
back with me, it’ll pacify him about the whole 
thing; and if not— hoot ! What good is there in 
wasting my brains to plan out for troubles that’ll 
never come !” 


PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTFORD. 143 


CHAPTER XIII. 

PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTFORD. 

MysiE was trying to make herself the same 
kind of promises she was in the way of giving 
Rob, and they did seem rather comfortable, as she 
made her way over the road. How blue the sky 
was ! How the air gleamed and glittered ! 

A cross-cut brought her to the Mountford farm 
by a walk of not more than a mile. It had not 
tired her. Mysie was strong on her feet yet, but 
there was a strange trembling in her limbs that 
made her sometimes want to hurry forward, some- 
times hesitate, as if she must drop. 

The house had something hard and sharp 
about all its outlines; Mysie couldn’t have told 
why, but it seemed to bristle at her as she came 
near. It had been painted red, once on a time, 
and the color had faded down just enough to look 
grim. Two tall pines with long bare trunks and 
very stiff, sharp-pointed tops, guarded the front- 
door, and a row of white-barked “old maid” 
poplars rustled over her head as she opened the 
gate. 

She glanced timidly towards the dog-kennel. 


144 the good-times girls. 

She remembered it of old, and hoped its tenant 
was safe inside. Yes, there were the mastiff’s 
eyes blinking just inside the door, and a low 
muttering told that they were taking Mysie’s 
measure as she passed. 

‘ c Ay, ay, then ! a chained dog is no grander 
than a dead lion,” she said comfortably, as she 
passed by; and then she pulled at the door-bell 
and stood still. Just the very pull itself seemed 
like asking the terrible question that must be 
asked at last. 

The bell-handle worked stiffly, as if they did 
not have many visitors at the Mountford farm, 
and it seemed to Mysie as if no one would ever 
come. 

“And that’s a strange thing too, for there’s 
people and people coming to him, week in and 
week out, about moneys and papers and what not 
that he holds to his balance or others,” Mysie 
said, trying to ‘ ( speir, ’ ’ as she called it, through 
the side-lights of the door. The sashes were 
painted black with gilt stripes, and the glass 
looked as black as the sash to Mysie’s eyes. She 
couldn’t get the least glimmer through it into 
the hall. 

But there was some one coming at last. It 
was old Hannah, the time-worn servant of the 
Mountfords’, and there was an impatient sound 


PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTEORD. 1 45 

in the tread of her loose cloth shoes. Why 
could n’ t people who wanted Mr. Mountford go 
to the office-door and knock there; and if he 
didn’t answer, have sense enough to know he 
wasn’t in, and go away without troubling folks 
who had work enough of their own? 

She had put her apron over the brass door- 
handle before she took hold of it. Brass was 
often enough to scour, without taking the polish 
off when there was no need. 

Mysie’s bright blue eyes met her at the first 
crack in the opening door, and Hannah answered 
the question in them without giving her time to 
speak. 

“I don’t know whether he’s in or not,” she 
said. “ If he is, he ’s in the office, and if he is n’t, 
he ’s out. He ’s more to do than to sit in the front 
of the house, littering the best room, at this time 
of day. You can try the knocker there and he’ll 
answer it,” and Hannah waved a sign towards a 
side-door with a grim-looking knocker, that she 
evidently considered out of her sphere when pol- 
ishing day came round. 

U I hope you’ll please forgive me,” said My- 
sie, with a little curtesy, as she turned quickly 
away. “I’ve always had Rob to look after 
business before. ’ ’ 

But even through the crack Mysie had had 


Good-Times Girls. 


10 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 


146 

a glimpse of the “best room” before the door 
closed. 

“Ah, but he knows how to take comfort 
inside; it doesn’t matter that the coming in is a 
bit drear,” she said, as the heavy carpet, the 
shining brass fender, and stately old mahogany 
furniture met her eye. 

“It’s no wonder they couldna have him lit- 
tering up here. It ’s too grand by far. And it’s 
grand everywhere, no doubt, with all the money 
he handles and rolls up. What can he care 
about the bit interest we owe? Northfield has n’t 
another man so rich. I ’ ve heard that many a 
time.” 

She took courage and went swiftly round to 
the door Hannah had pointed out. The knocker 
was far easier than the bell, and she gave it a 
sharp little rap. It was n’t her way to hold back. 
She would have handed the surgeon a knife with 
just such a hearty way if he had been going to 
cut off her arm ; that is to say, if she knew the 
arm had to come off at the best. 

But there was no answer again, and a second 
rap brought no one, willing or unwilling, to let 
her in. The window slits at the side of the 
door, however, were more generous this time. 
Mysie saw an elegant modern office-table covered 
with documents of every kind, a luxurious office- 


PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTEORD. 147 

chair, an old carved desk, standing almost as 
high as the wall, a vase of fipwers on the table 
at one side, footstools, fishing-rods, riding whips, 
everything that could look like comfort or luxury 
to a single man. 

“Now, then,” she exclaimed triumphantly, 
although a little bewildered at so much she had 
never seen before, “didn’t I say he was rare 
and rich, and filled wi’ the luxuries o’ this life? 
What foolishness to think he’d worry about our 
bit interest ! I ’d be glad if he were here, though, 
till I ’d hear him say it himsel’.” 

She turned hesitatingly away. She would 
like to stand there and wait. Who could tell 
when she’d have so free an afternoon again? 
And she wanted to tell Tom that it was all set- 
tled too. 

But a feeling that old Hannah might have an 
objection turned her away. She went slowly 
down the steps, passed the dog-kennel and a bed 
of dahlias tied stiffly up to stakes, and had almost 
reached the gate, when a sudden clatter outside 
of it made her start, and the squire’s horse, its 
rider holding him w T ell in hand, cantered into the 
yard. Mysie might have heard him sooner, and 
seen the dust outside the poplar-row, if she 
hadn’t been so busy thinking of other things. 

The horse and his rider both started a little 


148 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

as they came suddenly upon Mysie and her flut- 
tering cloak; the squire reined up short, and 
Mysie made an old-fashioned little courtesy again, 
though her heart had leaped almost out of its 
place at the surprise. 

“ I ’in Mysie Macdonald, sir, of the cottage by 
the Bower, ’ ’ she said, seeing that the squire looked 
questioningly at her, as if he were not even sure 
whom she wished to see. “I’m come mysel’ to- 
day, since Rob’s not stirring with his rheumatism 
just now.” 

The squire struck his restless horse a little 
blow with the whip. 

“Stand still, sir,” he said; “be quiet!” and 
he drew his riding cap more firmly over his eyes. 
The squire looked well on horseback; he had a 
good figure, held himself well, and his full, rather 
handsome face under his cap looked much as 
it had when he first began to serve Northfield 
young ladies as an escort twenty-five years ago. 
Its close-cut side- whiskers were slightly sprinkled 
with gray, it is true, but he did not feel at all 
thrown out of line by that. In fact he had just 
been down to pay a call at Miss Stuyvesant’s and 
beg her acceptance of a rare plant that had fallen 
into his hands. Miss Mountford, his sister and 
housekeeper, did not like having such things 
about. The pines and the poplars were quite 


PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTFORD. 149 

enough for her, and in fact she looked a good 
deal like one of the latter herself. 

“Macdonald ! Ah, yes. I know who you are 
now. Whoa, boy,” said the squire again. “You 
have come to pay me some money then, I sup- 
pose. It has been overdue for some time.” 

There was 110 leaping at Mysie’s heart this 
time; it almost stood still. He was looking for 
the money then; he had not forgotten it, nor 
given it up. 

“That’s true, sir. It’s overdue longer than 
I thought Rob and I would ever see a debt; and 
it’s just that I ’m come to speak to you about.” 

“Well, speak quickly, then, if you please, 
for you see my horse wont stand. ’ ’ 

“It’s only to ask you, then, if you’d kindly 
let it pass once more,” began Mysie, with a sudden 
choking in her throat, and forgetting all the fine 
speeches she had had ready to make. “We’ve 
been always faithful to the very half-day before, 
and it’s many a hard-earned saving we’ve put 
into our payments besides. But now, with Rob 
stiffened, and our lads taken from us, one by one, 
all seems at a standstill just now. So I was 
forced, sir, to come and get your promise of letting 
it pass once again — the interest I mean, for I see 
no hope of the four hundred through the cloud 
that’s on us now.” 


150 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Squire Mountford sat erect in his saddle and 
looked at Mysie with a curious expression on his 
face. 

“If I’d kindly let it pass,” he repeated. 
“That is to say, let you keep the property after 
you come to a full stop in paying the dues. Why, 
my good woman, what do you suppose a mort- 
gage is for? I might as well have your note and 
burn it up, if I didn’t mean to secure myself by 
a lien on the property itself. Whoa there, Racer. 
Stand off, sir. Be a little careful, please, my 
friend. The beast may step on you. ’ ’ 

Mysie was indeed almost under the horse’s 
hoofs. She was standing as if nailed to the 
ground, and did not seem to see anything but the 
squire’s face. 

She drew back a step, with her eyes still fixed 
upon his. 

“Not that you’d mean to say, sir — not that 
you’d mean to say that you’d take the place 
from us in full, if we can’t overtake with what’s 
due?” 

‘ ‘ What else could you expect ? The property 
was mine in the first place, and hasn’t been 
paid for.” 

“But we’ve paid over and over a sum on it, 
sir; and you’re rich, and Rob’s stiffened, and 
Tom — my last laddie — ” 


PLEADING WITH SQUIRE MOUNTFORD. 151 

Mysie stopped, and Racer gave one more 
impatient curvet, almost across lier path. 

“I’m very sorry for your troubles, but if 
you’ve made your payments, so have I taken 
my risks; and as to being rich, as you chose to 
consider, I should have been poor enough if I 
had not taken care of myself. I let one payment 
go over, to see how things would turn, but when 
it ’s plain they ’re for the worse, it ’s time to wind 
up. I’ll come down and see about it. You 
have three weeks yet to raise the next payment, 
however; I’ll wait that time of course; and now, 
if you please, I shall have to ask you to let my 
horse pass. I’m sorry to trouble you, but the 
animal’s too near his stable, as you see.” 

A terror too deep for words seized upon My- 
sie’s soul. If Squire Mountford should come to 
the house, and say what he might say, Tom would 
hear it all. She could never keep sight and 
sound of it from him. 

u O sir, but if you wouldna, please,” she be- 
gan, but the squire had loosened the rein and 
Racer had shot towards the stable and was clat- 
tering in over its floor. 

“It don’t look to me that Mysie’s afternoon 
out did her such wonderful good,” Hugh said, as 
he made his way back to the town with his great 
strides. ‘ ‘ She looked white-like, as if she tramped 


152 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

too far. I suppose old folks and young can’t find 
a holiday just the same thing. I wonder if she ’d 
seen Tom’s captain about keeping Tom’s berth 
open for him, while she was out. Tom looked 
at her quick and sharp, and she just answered 
him quiet-like, ‘He said he’d wait.’ It’ll be a 
long waiting Tom ’ll do before he handles his 
tools again, I’m afraid. It looks more to me 
as if the boys that went before him were just 
waiting for him across on the other side. ’ ’ 


AT the: MARSTON HOUSE. 


x 53 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AT THE MARSTON HOUSE. 

IT had been a hard day for 1 1 Marston of the 
Mills” — this half work-day, half holiday — when 
his inill-hands had been luxuriating in free range 
of blue sky and crystal, life-giving air. “An 
intolerable day!” he had muttered a hundred 
times, as he paced about the house or shut him- 
self up thinking it a worse prison than all the 
mills ever made, and yet feeling that he would n’t 
go to the counting-room if all the letters, book- 
keepers and foremen in creation were to say he 
was wanted there. 

Why hadn’t he been contented to stay in it, 
though, in the proper time? Why hadn’t he 
turned mummy there before he ever proposed 
that miserable ride ? 

The next morning was quite as bad. He sent 
word he was coming, ordered back his driving 
wagon that Thorne sent up — what did he want to 
see of a horse? — walked half way down, turned 
and came back. The door of Beatrice’s room 
was ajar; he stole softly inside. 

The narcotics of the night before had length- 


154 th e good-times girls. 

ened lier sleep, but she opened her eyes at his 
step. 

“ Did the men say they enjoyed their holiday, 
papa?” she asked as she saw who it was, and 
she held out her hand with a faint smile. 

“Of course, darling. How could they help 
it!” he said hastily. He hadn’t been near the 
men. How could he know ? But of course they 
had said so, unless they were a set of brutes. 

“ How glad I am ! That was pleasant, wasn’t 
it, papa? It is stupid in me to sleep so much in 
all this sunlight, but I ’m drowsy yet.” 

“Is the sun shining? I didn’t know,” said 
Mr. Marston, looking about suddenly, as if it 
were something he ought to have observed, and 
her eyes closed again. 

A week had passed away since then. “ The 
big doctor from the city” had ceased his visits 
at the Marston house: Dr. Parker would do all 
that was necessary for Miss Marston now; and in- 
deed, both were agreed that time must be more 
depended upon than medicines in deciding how 
far the effects of that terrible stumble of Princess’ 
were to be overcome. 

Beatrice had improved already; there was no 
question about that. She was sitting up a few 
hours daily in her easy-chair by the window that 
overlooked the lawn, and she was seeing a few 


AT THE) MARSTON HOUSE. 


155 


friends, and chatting gayly with them, insisting 
that she should be quite well soon. But she tired 
quickly, and was forced to confess that no pillows 
or cushions could be placed so as to be “just 
right ’ ’ at her back. 

“And I do believe,” she said, laughing light- 
ly, “it was to put me in sympathy with rheu- 
matic old ladies that Princess gave me this knock. 
I can’t seem to move one foot after the other, 
there ’s such a queer sort of stiffness somewhere, 
I can’t tell where. But it can’t last for ever, and 
meanwhile, papa, it will be a real blessing to you 
to have to give me a little time after dinner every 
day. I believe I ’ll play invalid as long as I can, 
just to keep you another hour out of the mill.” 

Mr. Marston smiled, and walked once or twice 
across the floor. He did not care to have Beatrice 
know how many hours he had stayed out on her 
account. He could not bear even to think of that 
first miserable day, or of the night that had ush- 
ered it in. 

“Oh, here is something for you,” he said sud- 
denly, drawing his letter-book from his pocket 
and taking out a paper folded in rather novel 
shape. 

4 ‘ For me ? What can it be ?’ ’ 

“ Mapes, the foreman of the brass-room, hand- 
ed it to me. The men in his room started it, I 


156 the: good-times GIRLS. 

think, and the rest joined. Mapes said something 
about Jim Burlock being the first in the thing, 
and a big mate of his, Ben Haverly, served as 
clerk. ’ ’ 

“Oh, give it to me, papa !” said Beatrice 
eagerly. 

Her father hesitated, as if what had been 
handled in the work-room was not fit to be 
touched by her; but she took it from him, and 
unfolded the two or three squares in which the 
huge sheet, with its huge handwriting, was 
folded. 

1 1 This is to say that the hands working in the 
Amazon Mills of Northfield, and having a holi- 
day on the afternoon of the 17th ult., by Miss 
Marston’ s request, unanimously and altogether 
desire to inform her that they and their families 
received great pleasure from the same. Also that 
Miss Marston should be aware they have felt 
great anxiety on her account, and rejoice in being 
told there is a favorable improvement setting in. 

“ In behalf of the Amazon Hands, 

“ BEN HAVERLY, AND OTHERS.” 

“There, now, there is a compliment such as 
few ladies have received at your age,” said Mr. 
Marston, as the pleasure in Beatrice’s face gave 
him a refreshing sense of being pleased himself 
once more after this unhappy week. 


AT THE MARSTON HOUSE. 1 57 

“ And I ’in sure none was ever received with 
truer appreciation,” she said. “Wasn’t it very 
nice of them to think of it, papa? Jim Burlock, 
did yon say? I thought he had a good face. 
And that reminds me of Midge. Thorne must 
have given her my invitation to come up. I’m 
afraid she wont care for it, now that I can’t show 
her the flowers. Mamma darling, if you could 
just give that pillow an insignificant little push. 
It wont seem to dodge into exactly the right 
spot. ’ ’ 

An anxious look crossed Mrs. Marston’s face. 
It was not the fault of the pillow, she knew very 
well. She should not feel easy about Beatrice 
till things were much better than this. 

“Don’t regret any visitors who have been 
kind enough to stay away, darling,” she said, as 
she changed the position of her cushions with the 
gentlest possible touch. “You have had too 
many already, I ’m afraid.” 

“Oh, I can’t think so. They do me good, 
every one. Rheumatic old ladies always see 
company, you know. I believe I ’m almost well; 
already, in fact, if it were not for this crick in my 
back, or whatever it may be. ’ ’ 

Whatever it might be ! There was something 
in the words that Mr. Marston did not like; he 
would go down to the old tread-mill again. It 


15B THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

was getting late. If he were going off for a year, 
lie must do extra work in advance, and leave 
things in good trim. And the trip would not be 
altogether to please himself, either, after this. 
Beatrice would need something to freshen her up 
after such a pull. 

As he opened the door he met Nora, one of 
the house-servants, just lifting her hand to knock. 
The other hand held a note and a lily-stalk. 

“Come in, Nora,” said Beatrice. “You’ve 
brought me something delightful, I know.” 

“ It ’s a note, miss, and a bunch of flowers the 
little Miss Llewellyn has brought in,” said Nora, 
delivering herself of her charge. “She’s wait- 
ing below, in hopes she might get back even the 
shortest of messages from you. ’ ’ 

“The shortest!” laughed Beatrice. “Oh, 
no; we’ll have something better than that, un- 
less mamma interferes. Let me see what the 
note says, first. What a mail I’m having to- 
day !” 

She opened May’s note. It had been written 
with fingers almost trembling with the excitement 
of venturing so far. 

“Dear, dear Miss Marston, I can’t help com- 
ing in at last. I could n’ t help coming as far as 
the door every day, just to ask. You would know 
that if I didn’t tell you, I ’m sure. But to-day I 


AT THE MARSTON HOUSE. 1 59 

felt as if I must come just a little nearer ; and I 
thought, perhaps, if you knew I was down stairs, 
you would let Nora bring me the shortest little 
message, if it wouldn’t tire you too much— just 
so that I can stop feeling as if I had lost you be- . 
hind some dreadful wall or mountain, or I don’t 
know what. 

“It has been so terrible to have you suffer, 
and to be frightened about you; you can never 
understand. But you are going to be well again 
now, of course. I send you a blue amaryllis, just 
to let you know how I remember the day in 
church. 

“Please let me have just three words. You 
can’t think how glad I shall be. And forgive me 
for daring to write this. 

“ MAY.” 

“Now, mamma darling, don’t say a word! 
I’m not tired yet — really I’m not — and such a 
loving little soul as that must be made the most 
of. They ’re not to be picked up every day. 
Nora, tell Miss May I send her the very shortest 
message I can think of — Please come up stairs.” 

“Really? Are you quite sure? Not really 
to go up to her own room !” asked May when the 
message came. She had been waiting for it with 
beating heart, but this was too much ! 

“Indeed, miss, that’s what Miss Marston 


i6o THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

said, and was quite pleased to say it too;” and 
the next moment, with half awe-stricken, half 
rapturous face, May was entering the room by 
one door, while Mrs. Marston was slipping 
• through an opposite one into her own, with a 
smile and a warning “ Only a few minutes, dear,” 
to May as she went. 

“Nora, step to this window in my room a 
minute, please,” she said suddenly, calling the 
housemaid back. “Is that a child’s figure out- 
side the hedge, standing perfectly still ?’ ’ 

Nora came and looked. 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a child’s, or some queer 
human thing, old or young. I’ve seen her at 
the hedge, now and then, before ; but she’s been 
there every day since Miss Marston was hurt, reg- 
ular. I’ve fancied she might be wanting to in- 
quire, she looks always at Miss Marston’ s window 
so hard. But I ’m always so busy, and I thought 
I might scare her away.” 

“ Every day, did you say? Do run down and 
see what the child is thinking of. Perhaps she 
wants something. No, you’re too late. She is 
vanishing away. If you- see her there again, 
Nora, let me know.” 

But Midge was hurrying down the street with 
the feeling that she would never come again. 

“I haven’t missed a day yet, because I had 


AT THE MARSTON HOUSE. l6l 

to come,” slie had been saying to herself. “First 
I was afraid she’d die, and I wanted to get near 
to her as long as I could. The windows were 
shaded then, only sometimes I could see shadows 
on the curtains from inside. It seemed to me al- 
ways it was tall white lilies growing there that 
throwed ’em, but I suppose it was people stand- 
ing near. But at last they let the light in, and I 
knew she was getting well. And now there’s 
been two days, and I could see just a speck of her- 
self when the window was open wide — some- 
times only her shoulder, sometimes it was a bit 
of her face, and her hair. But I knew it was 
her. Then I most thought I ’d be willing to die, 
if Pd gone to let her show me the flowers while 
there was a chance! Oh, I can’t think why I 
hadn’t gone while there was a chance! Some 
folks say she’ll never come out again— but ’twill 
be for ever and for ever if she does. Like as not 
the snow’ll have covered ’em up. I shouldn’t 
dare to go, if I didn’t have ’em for an excuse. 
But the Llewellyn girl, she can !” 

Poor Midge ! She had caught sight of May 
twice before to-day, going as far as the door, and 
had stood still, holding her breath, as she saw her 
do it and come away, doubtless with news. 

But to-day she had been let in ! She had gone 
inside ! 

1 1 


Good-Time* Girl*. 


1 62 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“It’s the flower she was carrying; she wanted 
to see it go safe,” thought Midge. But the next 
moment she saw May’s head just where the cur- 
tains of Miss Marston’s room parted and gave her 
a view. 

A sudden pang, like the feeling she had had 
on the lily Sunday, shot through her like an ar- 
row again. 

“ Is it my back, that I could n’t ever do that? 
or my clothes? or because I didn’t dare?” she 
asked, and turning, sped away and was gone. 


SHALL THERE BE A CLUB? 


163 


CHAPTER XV. 

SHALL THERE BE A CLUB? 

BEE Hathaway’s room was full of girls once 
more, that afternoon. Barbie had enlivened her 
drive with Helen Fortescue by an account of 
Fanny’s proposal, and Helen had seized upon it 
with an eagerness that would have satisfied Fan- 
ny herself. 

u So that ’s what you were all talking about? 
I thought there was a crowd of you up there in 
Bee’s room. A club ! That ’s just what I always 
thought I should like. I’ve heard of those ‘Blue- 
Badge Boys.’ Rose Weeks’ brother Wad is one 
of them, you know — and they did have an im- 
mense quantity of fun when they gave that con- 
cert, though I’ve no idea what it was for. Of 
course we do n’t want to imitate the boys. They 
would know that well enough ; and we might get 
so far ahead of them that they’d be trying to take 
lessons of us ! ‘ Good times ’ are better than just 

being ‘ comfortable !’ Nobody need be told that. ” 

‘ ‘ Only you must be sure of your good times, ’ ’ 
answered Bab, settling herself back in the phae- 
ton with that quiet smile and stillness of hers 


164 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

that the others called “stately ” sometimes. “If 
you’re not satisfied with common things, you 
have to think up uncommon ones, you know. ’ ’ 

“Fan’ll have to do the thinking; it’s her 
lookout. She said she would, didn’t she? 
When are you going to meet again ?’ ’ 

Barbie shook her head. “Don’t know,” 
she said. 1 1 When a bright idea strikes any one, 

I suppose. We’ll let you know.” 

Bright ideas had been slow in coming, and. 
one difficulty after another had tested enthusiasm 
by delay. But Bee’s room was fairly buzzing at 
last. Helen had brought Rose Weeks, and May 
had come with Fanny, although with a queer lit- 
tle feeling covered up out of sight that she did 
not care about very good times while Miss Bea- 
trice was cooped up with that mean, miserable 
pain in her back. 

Six girls in a room can make matters lively if 
they get well under way, and Bee was at her 
most bubbling point and equal to half a dozen 
more. 

“What shall we do first of all, girls?” she 
asked, with one of her half-dervish whirls which 
Bee alone could execute within the bounds of 
propriety and grace. i ( Shall we build a hall ? 
Of course we shall need one for such entertain- 
ments as we shall give.” 


SHALL THERE BE A CLUB? 165 

“Hadn’t you better sit down, Bee?” asked 
Fanny in return. “We don’t propose to admit 
any lunatics to the club. Do say something that 
you really mean, if you can. ’ ’ 

“Don’t you like the idea of the hall? I 
thought I had hit the very nail on the head. 
Well, then— a banner ! We shall want one when 
we come to parade. ’ ’ 

“Bee, close those wings of yours and never 
mind buzzing for a few minutes, do,” interrupted 
Helen with a gesture of command. “I think 
the first thing to do is to organize. That ’s what 
a company always does. How can we tell what 
we’re going to do ourselves, much less invite new 
members to come in, till we’ve done that? I 
think ‘The Good-Times Girls’ will be just splen- 
did, if— if— ” 

“If they once know who they are themselves? 
You are right, Nell. Let us ask Bab. She ’s the 
very one to know. Now then, Barbie, organize 
us and save us from the disgrace of not knowing 
what we are ourselves. ’ ’ 

“Yes, let Barbie be moderator!” came in a 
chorus, and Bee whirled across the room with a 
“shadow-dance” movement, and returning with 
a miniature chair, in which she had sat in state 
at the age of three, presented it to the proposed 
moderator with mock solemnity and state. 


1 66 the good-times girds. 

“Come, Bee,” remonstrated Fanny, half dis- 
comfited, but not even half vexed, for nobody 
ever could be that with Bee, ‘ 1 I thought you 
wanted to join.” 

“Wanted to? I should cry my eyes out if I 
could n’ t. That is to say, as soon as there is any- 
thing to join ; and that is why I want Barbie to 
‘put a head on it’ at once. If you don’t like 
the idea of a banner, why badges might do in- 
stead. The boys have badges, don’t they 
Rose?” 

‘ ‘ Of course, else how would they be the ‘ Blue- 
Badge Boys’? Blue enamel and gold, mono- 
grams, theirs are. ’ ’ 

“ Oh-o-o !” came in the chorus again, and 
Bee was calling for a fan, and making gestures of 
giving up everything in despair. 

“We don’t w r ant badges, if the boys have 
them,” began Fanny in some excitement. “We 
just want to have a good time. But we’ve got 
to have some sort of order, of course, to do any- 
thing. We want a secretary, and a — a — ” 

“A treasurer?” asked Bee eagerly. “Oh, 
let me be treasurer, do ! I’ve got a cash-box that 
will hold our funds to the very last cent,” and 
she plunged into a. drawer and produced a small 
Japanese box, delicately inlaid, and provided 
with lock and key. 


SHALL, THERE BE A CLUB? 1 67 

“That is pretty; let me see,” said Helen, 
reaching towards Bee. 

Bee handed it to her demurely, but she nearly 
dropped it from the sudden surprise of finding the 
fingers she placed under it go through to the top. 

“Why, it ’s all open underneath !” 

“Yes, the bottom dropped out and got lost; 
but that wouldn’t make any difference, would 
it ?’ ’ asked Bee, with a serio-comical air. 

4 ‘ Bee, ’ ’ said Barbie, reaching out a hand and 
drawing the unruly member to a chair, “come 
and sit down; you’ve talked enough. Now, 
girls, suppose we don’t have any special formali- 
ties at first, till we try a while and are more sure 
what we do want. Suppose we only determine 
to be a club to-day — Fanny has the name all 
ready, and that ’s half the fight — and then agree 
that we will have some entertainment once a 
week, and that each member of the club shall be 
responsible for it in turn — thinking it up, and 
seeing that all goes right. I think Fanny might 
be the first one. I am sure we ’ll all follow if she 
will lead.” 

There was a murmur of mingled bravos and 
approval round the room. 

“O righteous judge!” broke in Helen For- 
tescue’s voice. “Only, Bab, we want to know 
how many new members we can ask, and who 


l68 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

they may be, and all sorts of things. I think we 
had better decide.” 

“And I can’t think up anything alone ! How 
can I?” said Fanny ruefully. 

“Well, we might have two, to plan together, 
for every week. How would that do ?’ ’ 

Fanny looked doubtful still. “It’s a great 
deal more plague than I thought ’t would be, any- 
way,” she said. “Can’t we all settle upon some- 
thing, together, for the first week at least ?’ ’ 

“Suppose we have a drive, a wdiole afternoon; 
choose partners, you know?” suggested Helen. 

Bee laughed. “All very fine for you, Nell, 
but bring on your fairy godmother to make phae- 
tons out of pumpkin-shells for the rest of us.” 

“A picnic, then,” ventured Rose Weeks, who 
never liked to lead, but was a most amiable and 
earnest little follower when she was sure of the 
way. 

Bee shook her head. “Picnics must be in 
solitary places, and solitary places are not reputa- 
ble for small girls alone. If we had only followed 
out Barbie’s common-sense proposal and impound- 
ed some respectable Lady Superior to spread even 
one sheltering wing ! But there ’s no one who 
would be plagued with us, I suppose. ’ ’ 

“ How would tableaux do, for the first?” sug- 
gested Barbie, her bit of pink embroidery going 


SHALL THERE BE A CLUB? 1 69 

quietly on, softened down by some shades just off 
white. Barbie’s fingers never let odd minutes 
slip. 

“What do you say, Fanny?” asked Helen; 
“it’s your first, you know.” 

Fanny made an internal grimace. Tableaux 
were more than three-quarters -a bore, she had al- 
ways thought; but what else was there to have? 

“I’m willing, if you’ll help with the pro- 
gramme,” she said; “but I didn’t think ‘good 
times ’ were so hard to have. ’ ’ 

“ I ’ll tell you a good time we can have before 
long, one or two at a time,” said May Llewellyn, 
with a sudden flush. ‘ ‘ I had a perfectly lovely 
one this morning, and an invitation to all of you 
to have a taste of the same, after just a little 
while.” 

‘ ‘ What ? what ?’ ’ asked the chorus. 

“I went to see Miss Marston — Miss Bea- 
trice.” 

There was a sudden hush, and a rather awe- 
stricken look from face to face. Miss Marston ! 
The only thought of her, for so many days, had 
been of anxiety and pain. 

“Not really, May? Not in her own room, 
really to see her?” asked Bee at last, sobering for 
once, and looking at May as if some special rev- 
erence had become due. To get into Miss Mars- 


I JO TIIK GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

ton’s room, under any circumstances, would have 
been privilege, not to say rapture, enough. But 
just now! The “Good-Times Girls” sat silent 
and overwhelmed. 

“Yes, I did indeed !” 

“How is she? How was she?” was the sud- 
den onset after this- reply. 

“ She was sitting up ; she sits up three hours 
in a day. And it’s the loveliest room you ever 
saw; and she’s better, and getting better every 
day. And I had the most perfectly exquisite 
time; and she likes to see people; and what do you 
think she said ? She said it would flatter her so 
if the girls would come in while she was getting 
well. She wanted me to tell them. In a few 
days, she said, she’d be well enough for good 
long calls, and it would be the best medicine she 
could have. She really means it too. She wants 
us. And, oh, girls, she did look too exquisite for 
anything ! And her wrapper, too ! Cashmere, 
just the faintest, faintest shade of blue !” 

“What was it trimmed with?” began the 
chorus, growing excited. 

“Watteau trimming of lovely white lace, all 
the way from the throat to the hem, and the 
sweetest bows of faint pink every little way down. 
You never saw anything so perfect, with her 
golden hair. Only she can’t walk a step yet! 


SHALL THERE BE A CLUB? 171 

Oh, that hateful horse ! But you’ll go, wont you 
girls ?’ ’ 

u Go? Fly, you mean, as soon as the ‘few 
days’ are up! But, oh— wait a minute girls! 
We haven’t done a bit of voting all this time ! 
The idea of organising, and never voting a 
thing!” 

“Well, I vote that we adjourn, then,” said 
Helen, rising suddenly, “ for I promised to get a 
letter into the mail — I ’d no idea of being here so 
long and it ’s within fourteen minutes of the 
time. Come, Fan, if you want some ideas for 
tableaux, come along to Mam’selle’s. Don’t you 
know she helped get up costumes for the grand 
fair in the Hall last year? We ’ll let you know 
what luck, girls. Are you ready, Fan?” 

The Bon Marche, or “Bonn Marchee” accor- 
ding to Midge, was as gay and jaunty and tidy 
and tempting as ever, and Mam’selle was behind 
the counter, in her close black dress and little 
white mourning frills, pretty and charming as she 
always was; but, somehow, any one could tell at 
a glance that something was changed in the little 
shop after all. There was the same stamp of a 
great sorrow in Mam’selle’s face, there was a look 
of never forgetting H£loise ; but a new light 
seemed to be clear-shining over all. Some strange 
comfort, some new joy, had crept in somewhere 


1 72 the good-times girls. 

and somehow, it was plain. It did not take long 
to discover what it was. 

“ Look at her ! See !” exclaimed Mam’selle, 
waving a little salute with her pretty hand to the 
girls as they came in, and nestling against some- 
thing that her other hand and arm held close. 

“ Look at my Violet !” she said. “ I call her 
Violet because I found her hidden away so close, 
and because she is so sweet when she is found. 
And my heart and life are not empty and alone 
any more. It is a garden with one fair flower in 
it at least. Ah, c* est une merveille!” 

“Let me see,” said Helen. Mademoiselle 
drew back a step, and Helen surveyed her trea- 
sure with a long, slow, critical look. 

“Is she really going to be yours, Mademoi- 
selle?” she said at last. “I think she is the 
very loveliest child I ever saw !” 

“ Ali-h-h !” answered Mademoiselle with a 
long-drawn holding on to the word as if it were 
the sweetness of a flower. “My heart grows 
around her ! And the good God comes so close ! 
Heloise walks in Paradise. I wait to go to her. 
And while I wait, he gives to me, Himself — and, 
the child ! Ah, que c' est merveilleux P 1 


BEES ABOUT BEATRICE. 


1 73 


CHAPTER XVI. 

BEES ABOUT BEATRICE. 

Another week passed away, and another in 
the train of that, and still Beatrice sat in her arm- 
chair without seeming to progress perceptibly 
towards leaving it, much less towards getting out 
of her room. 

“Now, if all the world were like me, there 
would be a deal less trouble in it, wouldn’t there, 
papa?” she laughed. “For I stay just where I 
am put, and there are so many people and things 
that wont do that ! However, I shall make it all 
up when I once do get on my feet. Every one 
will have to clear the way for such a flurry as 
there ’ll be !” 

Meanwhile the “Good-Times Girls” had 
made the most of the invitation passed over to 
them by May. Bee had brought Rose Weeks 
under the buzzing little shelter of her wing, and 
Helen Fortescue had picked up Barbie in her 
phaeton and driven her to the gate, Barbie calm- 
ly declining to go farther until Helen had waited 
at the door for answer to the inquiry whether it 
would be agreeable to Miss Marston to let them in. 

“Descend, majestic creature !” Helen had 


I 74 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


called, waving a beckoning gesture from tlie 
lower end of the walk to which she had run down 
again. 

Barbie flushed a little as she quietly got out. 

1 1 Why do you always make such speeches to 
me?” she said with a smile lifted to Helen’s ex- 
cited face. “Don’t you know modesty from 
grandeur when you see it in this world?” 

‘ ‘ Come, humble mortal, then. The sceptre of 
the princess is held out. If you could persuade 
yourself to a little quicker step. I feel in a 
hurry. ’ ’ 

Fanny Stacy had hesitated a little. “I’m 
just dying to go, Mop, of course,” she said, as 
she walked up after another call on Mam’selle 
with Moppet Livingston, who lived in the house 
opposite her own. At least Moppet had been 
her sobriquet so long among her schoolmates 
that any other name standing behind it had 
passed entirely out of mind. 

“Did she invite you, really, though?” asked 
Moppet, divided between an amiable envy and 
unbelief. 

4 ‘ She said us girls. All of us that knew her, 
I suppose. That means me with the rest, of 
course. ’ ’ 

“Then I don’t see why it didn’t mean me 
just as much.” 


BEES ABOUT BEATRICE. 


T 75 


“Of course it did, if you want to go. Do you?'’ 

Moppet drew back and gazed at Fanny with 
round eyes. 

“Are you bereft, Fanny Stacy, or do you 
think I am?” she asked. “As if any girl in her 
senses wouldn’t scramble at the chance of get- 
ting into Miss Beatrice Marston’s room.” 

“Come along then. We’ll go together. At 
least as soon as some of the rest have got through. 
Nell Fortescue was going yesterday. I don’t 
want to crowd too close, of course, so that Miss 
Marston would never want to see any more of us; 
and besides, I ’d like to ask Nell how it seemed.” 

“There she is, then, at Bee’s window, and 
beckoning to you too. She wants to talk tab- 
leaux, I imagine.” 

Fanny made a wry face, and they ran up the 
steps. The Good-Times Girls were to have had 
an entertainment every week, and two weeks 
had passed already without the first one’s being 
ready to come off. 

“ Did I go?” echoed Helen, as Fanny hurried 
her questions in. “I should think I did, and her 
serene highness Bab there too. Bee had been 
before, you know.” 

“ What was it like? Did she really want you 
there? Is there room for any more of us, do you 
think?” 


176 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

“Which question would you like answered 
first? The first was the hardest. As to her 
wanting us — if you could have seen the lofty 
Bab seated on a stool beside the hem of that 
cashmere wrapper, and that hand of Miss Mars- 
ton’s giving a little touch to her smooth-combed 
wig every now and then ! It thrilled Bab down 
to her toes ; I know it did, still as she sat. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ But you got touches too, ” said Bab. 4 1 They 
went over to you and gave your fingers little 
squeezes quite as often, I ’m sure.” 

“What did you get, Bee?” asked Moppet, 
envy and incredulity fighting for the mastery 
again. 

“ Oh, I don’t tell. But did you ever see Miss 
Beatrice’s hand? It isn’t small — I hate small 
hands — but the shape’s perfect, and it’s as white 
as a lily, and inside, all around the palm, you 
know, it’s just like the lining of a shell, pink ! 
And oh, that room ! Do give me a fan, girls, 
while I only think it over once,” and Bee closed 
her eyes as if resigning herself to more luxury 
than she could bear. 

“ Can’t you revive enough to tell a body about 
it?” asked Moppet, giving her a little shake. 

“Don’t disturb a rapturous dream,” inter- 
rupted Helen. “You’ll see for yourself. It 
can’t be talked about, it just breathes over you, 


BEES ABOUT BEATRICE. 177 

somehow. You don’t seem to see what there is 
there only that there’s everything — that’s all.” 

“And a perfume like mignonette,” interposed 
Bab quietly, while her crochet needle slipped in 
and out through some mysterious meshes of blue. 

“Of course we’ve all seen things before,” 
Helen began again. “We’ve seen pictures, and 
Kensington, and lace bed-curtains with pale bows 
down the seam. I never did see a lace bed- 
spread and shams though, I confess.” 

1 1 An Italian countess sent those for some kind 
of a present— Naples lace, they are—” murmured 
Bee, with her eyes still closed, and her tow-col- 
ored stray locks tumbling down over them almost 
to her queer little nose. 

‘ ‘ And we ’ ve seen draperies and bric-a-brac, 
and other things plenty of times.” 

“What was it, then?” asked Moppet desper- 
ately. 

Helen shook her head. “Can’t tell you. It 
was the way things were chosen and put togeth- 
er, and a feeling of something exquisite and 
breathing off.” 

“But if she hadn’t been there,” exclaimed 
Bee, starting up suddenly with eyes wide open 
and round, and giving the flaxy locks a toss 
out of their way, “it would have been like- 
like—” 


Good Times Girls. 


12 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


I 7 8 

“ Bee lost for a simile !” cried the chorus, but 
Bee made made no attempt to go on. 

“What did you talk about?” asked Fanny. 

“ Everything,” said Barbie calmly, her needle 
steadily hooking in and out. 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” exclaimed Helen 
suddenly, looking back into Fanny’s face. “I 
never want anybody to talk religion to me, and 
they don’t try— and I never talked it to anybody 
in my life— but I suppose Miss Marston did it, 
and I sat there just holding my breath to catch 
every word she would drop. I suppose ’twas 
religion, wasn’t it, Barbie? You’re the one to 
know. But it was n’ t preaching. ’ ’ 

“They say religion means binding again,” 
Barbie said. 

“Binding what?” 

“Binding the heart back to its Lord again.” 

‘ ‘ There ! That was exactly it ! It just seemed 
as if her heart was bound to the Lord Christ so 
that she could n’t help speaking of him, as we do 
of any one we love. Girls, haven’t you read 
sometimes of people’s loyalty to a prince — how 
it was just a delight to be bound to him in any 
way? I never dreamed of its being like that to 
be religious; but that is the way it seemed when 
she said anything, only more than you could ever 
begin to feel to a prince of any kingdom here. ’ ’ 


BEKS ABOUT BEATRICE. 


179 


‘ 1 What did she say ?’ ’ asked Moppet in a 
rather awe-stricken voice. She was not used to 
people’s talking religion either, and the idea of 
hearing Helen Fortescue begin ! 

“Nothing; that is to say, nothing as if she 
were trying to say anything, only as it happened 
to come in ; as if the Ford Christ were a part of 
her life, and she had to speak of him when she 
spoke of the rest. You’ll see. You’ll hear her 
when you go. Wont she, Bab? Only, Fanny 
Stacy, have n’t you made up your mind yet about 
that list of Mam’selle’s? The idea of having a 
list as long as your arm of first-rate subjects for 
tableaux given you, and not choosing in all this 
time!” 

“I don’t believe I ’ll ever choose,” said Fan- 
ny, with an air of abandoning all effort in life. 

‘ ‘ There is something the matter with every one — 
too much bother with the costumes, or two many 
actors wanted, or else it is something girls can’t do 
alone. I wish some of the rest of you would get 
up something. I ’ ve worried myself already more 
than it ’s worth.” 

“I’ve heard of using the different scenes in 
‘The Hanging of the Crane,”’ suggested Bab. 
“ How would you like that?” 

“ And would n’t that want babies and old men 
and young men and fifty things? I don’t see 


i8o THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

that tableaux are anything but a bore. I said so 
in the outset, too. ’ ’ 

“Oh, come, don’t despair, Fanny,” laughed 
Moppet. “You know I ’m just coming in as the 
newest member-elect, and I mustn’t be discour- 
aged to begin with. We’ll go and see Miss Mars- 
ton to-morrow. Who knows but she’ll give us 
an idea? But, O girls, have you seen that baby 
of Mam’selle’s?” 

‘ ‘ Baby ! It is two years old. ’ ’ 

“Well, whatever it is, then; but isn’t it just 
the very sweetest thing? And did you ever 
know anything so queer as that woman?” 

“What if she should come back for it !” ex- 
claimed Bee. 

‘ ‘ She wont !’ ’ said Helen positively. 1 ‘ Mam’ - 
selle says the Ford gave it to her; and he don’t 
take back his presents, nor let his messengers do 
it either, I do n’t believe.” 

There was a murmur and a silence, and then, 
as usual, Bee broke in. 

“ Is that you, Nell Fortescue, talking reli- 
gion ? And bad grammar at the same time. ’ ’ 

“ Was I ? I didn’t know it. I wish I could 

m 

talk religion, and think it too, if I could do it 
as Miss Marston does. You ask her, Mop, when 
you go in, how soon I can come again.” 


FOR A YEAR AT FEAST. 


181 


CHAPTER XVII. 

FOR A YEAR AT FEAST. 

That point was easily ascertained. 

i 1 Tell Bee that the more she and the rest of 
her hive buzz in and out of my room, the more 
sweets I shall have to taste,” Beatrice had said 
when Moppet gave the message of the girls. “It 
will be sadly stupid for them, I ’m afraid. They 
will have to do all the entertaining and bring all 
the news. But it will be lovely for me. It will 
be sunshine coming in and shadows kept out. I 
shall have no chance to get blue, if they’ll come 
often enough.” 

“Stupid!” echoed Moppet, with a face as if 
some irreverence had been done. 1 1 How can you 
say such a thing, Miss Beatrice? It’s so perfect- 
ly delicious here, and it would be ‘ entertaining ’ 
enough just to sit and look at you if you did not 
speak two words in an hour !” 

“Two?” repeated Beatrice, laughing. “Oh, 
you’d want half a dozen at least. But I don’t 
believe I shall get so reduced that I can’t give 
you as much as that. Try it, in any case, and 
see.” 


182 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


The “hive” seemed to need no further ur- 
ging after this; they were quite willing to try. In 
twos or threes for the most part, at first, but it did 
not take more than one or two visits to send the 
feeling that made them do that quite out of sight; 
and before long it began to seem quite a matter of 
course to slip in as they went by and tell Miss 
Beatrice where they had been, and what every- 
body they had met had said. 

“Isn’t it lovely in her, though, to say it 
makes her feel as if she had had an airing her- 
self!” exclaimed Bee one day, when Helen had 
popped in unawares and spoiled a nap Bee was 
getting, her head buried in a cushion at one end 
of the sofa, while Barbie sat, work in hand, at 
the other. 

“I dare say it does. Why shouldn’t it?” 
said Barbie quietly, while her needle went in and 
out, a pale morning-glory, in Kensington stitch, 
appearing more and more distinctly as the result. 

Bee gazed at her silently a moment, and then 
bubbled into a laugh. 

‘ ‘ O you superior soul ! I wonder if you ever 
got really ‘stirred up’ about anybody or anything. 
In the first place, I think one of Miss Marston’s 
‘walks abroad’ would be a slightly more interest- 
ing thing than one of ours ; and in the second 
place — oh, I don’t know! What is the use of 


FOR A YEAR AT LEAST. 


i83 

trying to explain everything? But do you think 
another person’s having a thing can ever seem 
half as good as having it yourself?” 

4 ‘ Better, sometimes, ’ ’ said Barbie. 

Bee folded her hands across her breast, as if in 
despairing admiration of what was quite too high 
to reach. 

“ Bee, you don’t look well when you strike 
attitudes. I wish you could be persuaded of that. 
There is always an inappropriateness. I’ll take 
a sketch and see if I can’t show you,” said Helen, 
pulling out a pencil and catching up a bit of pa- 
per from a table near by. u But there is one 
thing I should like to know. When is Miss Mars- 
ton going to have her choice between our walks 
and her own? It is three weeks to-day since she 
began sitting up, and I can’ t find out that she has 
advanced a step. ’ ’ 

“ The doctor wont let her take one,” said Bee 
meekly. 

u Bee ! how perfectly horrid ! You need n’t 
pose any longer. I can’t look at you after your 
making such a joke as that. But seriously, if you 
can be serious, do you know whether she is the 
least bit better yet, or what the doctors say ? What 
are they good for if they can’ t do any good ?’ ’ 

“I sha’n’t answer,” said Bee, in pretence of 
offended dignity. ‘ ‘ Ask Bab. ’ ’ 


184 THE good-times girds. 

But Bab shook her head. How should she 
know anything in the matter that Bee had not 
heard as well ? 

“Well,” said Helen, with a little sigh, “as 
long as she does have to stay shut up there, I am 
thankful she lets us get a share of it. It’s the 
loveliest prison I ever saw. And then — and 
then — ’ ’ 

“And then what?” asked Bee, with her el- 
bows on the table and her chin in her hands. 

“Oh, I suppose you’ll say I am talking reli- 
gion, or bad grammar, or both, but if I thought 
the Lord Christ, and loving him, could seem to 
me as it does to her — if I thought his loving us 
could seem as strong and wonderful — why, I 
should want to have it right away; that ’s all.” 

Bee gazed at her with her chin pressed harder 
than ever into her palms. 

“Ask Bab,” she said again. “She knows. 
Could it, Bab?” 

Barbie’s face flushed. It was never her way 
to say much about what she felt; but she was the 
only one of the girls who professed to a life “hid 
with Him.” If they wanted to know what he 
was to her, should n’ t she tell ? 

“I don’t suppose it seems to me all that it 
does to her,” she said hesitatingly, “for I am 
not good enough; and I haven’t gone far enough 


FOR A YEAR AT FEAST. 185 

yet. But it’s sweeter than you could possibly 
think.” 

Bee gave a low, soft whistle. She had not 
supposed Barbie could be got to say as much as 
that; and Helen, looking quickly at her a mo- 
ment, said, “ Thank you, Bab,” and w r ent away. 

Beatrice’s young friends were not the only 
ones who began to be anxious at finding she did 
not gain. Dr. Parker had ceased daily visits for 
two weeks past; there was little or nothing for 
him to do, he said. Time and patience would 
have to be consulting physicians, for the most 
part, in this case. 

“Time!” echoed Mr. Marston, as day after 
day made no change. “How much time does 
the man want? Four such weeks as these may 
seem nothing to him, but four months or four 
years might seem shorter, in some points of view. 
I’ll have that other fellow from the city down 
again, and let them put their two wise heads 
together once more. If they can’t do anything 
then, I’ll take her to Europe in spite of them.” 

Mrs. Marston laid a hand soothingly upon him. 

“You remember they agreed when they were 
together. Rest and quiet were what we must 
trust, to they thought. ’ ’ 

“Rest and quiet! Do they expect to keep 
that up for a lifetime?” 


l86 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Mrs. Marston’s hand was a very elegant and 
ladylike one, with rare jewels flashing upon it; 
and moreover there was something peculiarly 
soothing to ruffled spirits, whether magnetism or 
other power, in a quiet touch that it had — an 
influence that was rather kept in reserve for 
troublous times, and seldom failing when they 
came, but to-day it was quite thrown away. 

“Not that four weeks are a lifetime, though 
these last have seemed very nearly so to me,” Mr. 
Marston said, as he started up and paced the room 
excitedly; “but a lifetime will be spoiled pretty 
soon if these doctors can’t better things up there,” 
and he threw an excited gesture towards Bea- 
trice’s room. “I’ll have Halstead down here 
once more, and see what he has to say at least. ’ ’ 

Dr. Halstead came. Not that he considered 
it to be of any use, but he did not feel himself 
called upon to say that. On the contrary, it was 
much better unsaid, and his cheerful and inter- 
ested look seemed to promise that something 
should “ come of his coming” at least. 

“And so you are still a prisoner, Miss Mars- 
ton, he began as he settled the delicate eyeglass- 
es that it might be suspected were worn quite as 
much for effect as for use. “You have a most 
charming prison-house, it is true;” and he allowed 
himself a complimentary half-glance round the 


FOR A YEAR AT LEAST. 1 8 / 

room. 1 1 Less fortunate persons would look upon 
suck a confinement as enviable in the extreme; 
and yet,” with a sudden respectful sympathy in 
his tones as he looked quickly into Beatrice’s 
face, “it is imprisonment, after all, to you, I 
fear. ’ ’ 

Beatrice answered by a glance through the 
open window, and a smile at her questioner as 
her eyes came back. 

“Ah! I see! Well, then,” and the doctor 
returned to his encouraging tone, “we must see 
what we can do. I congratulate you, however, 
upon every day’s patience you have had ! There 
is no medicine like repose in a case like this. 
And now, allow me to ask — ” and the profes- 
sional forms of inquiry and examination began. 
Each step seemed to increase rather than to 
diminish the cheerful view the great doctor was 
taking of things, and when he had finished he 
leaned back in his chair with a comfortable 
though still delicately sympathising look. 

“Now, Miss Marston,” he began slowly after 
a moment’s pause, “I suppose you want me to 
tell you what I think. It seems to me everything 
is doing as well as possible here. That was a 
pretty severe fall that you got — that beautiful 
creature of yours made a sad mistake; and the 
system doesn’t recover from such a thing in a 


the: good-times girds. 


1 33 

day. But patience gets the better of most troubles, 
you know, and I want you to exercise it for me 
a little longer, if you can. The tortoise got over 
more ground than the hare, you remember; and if 
you can make up your mind to keep this luxuri - 1 
ous room of yours for a little time yet — even that] 
tempting easy-chair, better still — why, every day 
brings you so much nearer and more safely towards 
the end; do you not see? And a day isn’t very 
much to count by itself, after all.” 

“ But, doctor,” said Beatrice, hesitating, u you 
know I can’t move if I wish! I can’t bear my 
weight for a single step.” 

The doctor laughed cheerily. 

“I’m glad you think you can’t, Miss Mars- 
ton, for that keeps you bound to my remedy, for 
a little while. Only wait till I come down again, 
however, and we’ll see what progress you report. 
But be sure your spirits keep up meanwhile ! I 
must speak to your friends about that. I want 
something interesting kept on the carpet all the 
time. I must insist upon that, as the second 
essential of all,” and the doctor rose to go. He 
must catch the next train, and he had to see Dr. 
Parker and consult about treatment before it 
should be due. 

But there was some one else he must see before 
he could leave the house and its questions behind 


FOR A YEAR AT LEAST. 1 89 

him. Mr. Marston was waiting for him down 
stairs, and walking the library with a step that 
had impatience and determination strangely 
mixed in its quick tread. 

The doctor bowed as he met him at the libra- 
ry-door. It was a pleasure to meet Mr. Marston, 
a still greater pleasure to say to him that the 
beautiful invalid up stairs was doing quite as 
well as he could have hoped. Her own quietness 
was greatly in her favor, for, as he had said be- 
fore, rest was the important thing in the case. 
Every other remedy available should be used. 
He was going now to consult with his friend Dr. 
Parker — he had an appointment within a few 
moments of this time. He could not take any 
greater satisfaction than in giving what help lay 
in his power towards undoing the mischief of this 
unlucky fall; it would be a great pleasure to see 
Miss Marston on her feet again. Still, as he had 
said before, time must be greatly depended upon 
after all. 

Mr. Marston eyed him keenly as he went on. 
He was a very elegant man certainly, and his 
own look of full health and strength, friendliness 
and good cheer, made it seem as if trouble were 
rather an imaginary thing after all. 

But they made no difference with the ques- 
tions Mr. Marston was waiting to ask. He heard 


190 the good-times girls. 

him through without the least help from any 
remark of his own, and waited to be sure he had 
quite finished what he had to say. 

“You are very kind,” he said at last, with a 
bow as courteous as the doctor’s own. “We are 
extremely indebted for the time and the interest 
you have given us. But I have one more favor 
to ask : a little more explicitness in giving your 
views. I want your opinion as it lies in your 
own mind.” 

The doctor looked quickly at him, but his own 
face did not change — it is part of the profession 
to be never thrown off guard. ‘ 1 Certainly, ’ ’ he 
said. 4 ‘ I intend always to be frank. Dr. Parker 
and myself will do our utmost with remedies, 
while, as I say, time will — ” 

Mr. Marston interrupted with a quick ges- 
ture. “May I beg you, sir, to waive all indefi- 
nite expressions, such as consideration or deli- 
cacy may suggest? Or, may I ask to go with 
you to Dr. Parker’s, and hear your opinion as it 
lies in your own mind, and as you will give it to 
him? I wish to know, without circumlocution, 
what you consider the prospects in the case. You 
talk of time. Will you be kind enough to tell 
me whether your own idea is of a month, or 
a year, and what you expect that given length 
to do?” 


FOR A YEAR AT FEAST. 191 

{ { My dear sir, it is difficult to fix precise 
boundaries — ’ ’ 

Another gesture more decisive still; the doc- 
tor hesitated, and then bowed again. ‘ ‘ I under- 
stand, Mr. Marston. You wish me to tell you as 
plainly what I think as if you had no feeling in 
the case. If you desire it, and request it, I have 
then no further reason to refuse. I will say then, 
with most sincere regret, that I consider it doubt- 
ful if Miss Marston ever walks again, at least 
with freedom. Observe, if you please, I say only 
doubtful — not without hope, by any means. I 
have very great hope of it, but I depend, as I 
have reiterated, less upon medical skill than upon 
time, and nature’s restoring force. The injury is 
to the spine. I believe much direct treatment 
would be injurious. I should prescribe principally 
quiet, ease* and above all, or as surmounting all, 
cheerfulness, and objects or subjects of interest 
in some way introduced continually into her 
room. This must become your care, and with 
this I shall look forward to the end of a year 
with much courage. I should trust that at the 
end of that time a very fair, if not full, degree 
of recovery may be attained; although, as I am 
obliged to say, I cannot speak of it as a certainty 
even then. But she has youth and strength on 
her side, and I have strong hope on mine. And 


192 the good-times girls. 

especially, above all things, be sure she is kept 
interested and cheerful in the meantime.” 

Mr. Marston’ s face had been growing whiter 
and sharper at every sentence as the doctor 
went on. 

“I’ll take her to Europe !” he exclaimed, 
with a sudden turn towards the other end of the 
room. “We were planning to go. That will 
interest her, at least ! And we will see what 
they ’ll have to say about it over there.” 

The doctor bowed once more. 

“You might find higher authorities there, Mr. 
Marston,” he said, “but I do not believe their 
resources would prove greater than ours; while I 
must assure you that the fatigue and the unfavor- 
able circumstances of journeying would destroy 
all hope. I consider it absolutely essential that 
Miss Marston remain in perfect quiet for months 
to come. But a cheerful quiet — something to in- 
terest her— mind, I insist upon that. Let her 
friends run in and out. Eet them bring in some- 
thing of interest every day.” 

The mills saw nothing of “the master” for 
the rest of that day, and even to Beatrice an ex- 
cuse was sent up. If she could think he was at 
the mills, and the mills could think he was with 
her, that was all he would ask. 

But Beatrice’s ear was too quick. “I’m 


FOR A YEAR AT LEAST. 


193 


afraid papa isn’t well,” she said anxiously. 
“ He sent word he w T as so much pressed, but he 
has not got off to the counting-room yet. I hear 
him walking the library floor, I am sure.” 

After that, what could he do? He would 
have mounted his horse and dashed off for twenty 
miles, if the very sight of a saddle hadn’t been 
hateful in his eyes. 

But the next morning no more excuses could 
be made. He must see Beatrice, and he must go 
to those miserable mills. If their noise could 
only drown the sound of the doctor’s words out 
of his mind ! However, the day, when he had 
lived through it, would be one out of the three 
hundred and sixty-five. 

But when the three hundred and sixty-five 
were gone! What then? That wiseacre of a 
doctor ! What was he good for, if he couldn’ t 
promise one thing or another, after all? 

Beatrice held out her hand gayly, as he en- 
tered the room. 

“I’m glad that busy day is over,” she 
said. “ I ’m jealous of such days. Perhaps you 
thought the doctor’s visit would make up, but it 
didn’t in the least. And, papa, he is very 
nice, and very learned, I suppose, but he doesn’t 
seem to say much, after all. He has such an in- 
definite way. Was he any better with you? I 
13 


Good-Times Girls. 


i94 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


want to know what he means by ‘ time. ’ It may 
be another whole month, for aught I could get 
him to say. ’ ’ 

Mr.Marston started up hastily, and took one 
or two strides towards the window overlooking 
the lawn. 

“ Doctors !” he exclaimed hurriedly. “ Hum- 
bugs ! How much do they know more than the 
rest of us, after all? We’ll take our own time, 
Trice. We ’ll start for Europe as soon as you ’re 
on your feet. You wont want six weeks with 
the dressmakers after that, I hope. They’re 
worse than the doctors about time. ’ ’ 

Beatrice gave him a quick, close look where 
he stood. “Come, papa,” she said coaxingly, 
“I can’t talk when you’re away over there.” 
He came back and took a seat by her side. What 
was a man good for, if he could n’ t keep his own 
feeling out of sight sometimes? 

“Beatrice,” he said, “I saw some new de- 
signs for fountains yesterday. This one in the 
lawn don’t amount to much. I ’ll bring up the 
list and let you choose.” 

Beatrice laid her hand quietly on his, and 
held it fast. “Now, papa,” she said cheerily, 
“I’m sure the doctor said something to you that 
he did n’t say to me, and I ’d rather know. Tell 
me, please. It’s my affair, you know.” 


FOR A YEAR AT EEAST. 1 95 

“What did he say? He talked about ‘rest,’ 
and all that, just as he did to you. I don’t be- 
lieve his say-so is worth a fig more than Parker’s, 
after all. Get Parker up here again. He’s a 
reasonable man, and talks English that means 
something, when he talks at all. And about 
those fountains — ” 

“Papa,” and the hand that was “pink like 
a shell inside” closed more firmly over his, “tell 
me what he said. How long does he think it 
will be before I can walk ?’ ’ Mr. Marston started 
once more, and would have withdrawn his hand 
and been on the other side of the room again, but 
it was held too fast. 

“What do you care what he said? Doctors 
talk a great deal of stuff outside of a sick-room 
that isn’t meant to go back to it again. He 
couldn’t tell himself; that was the amount of it. 
Longer or shorter — he didn’t know. There’s 
more humbug than anything, as I tell you, about 
such men.” 

“ But what was the shortest time he spoke of, 
please?” 

“The shortest time? How can I tell you, my 
dear girl? If a man whips the English language 
round a stump — ” 

“Tell me, papa. I shall ask Dr. Parker, if 
you do n’t.” t 


196 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Mr. Marston tried his hand again. It was 
faster than before. 

“The man said something about a year, I be- 
lieve — but what difference does it make? He’d 
be as likely to say a week, in the next breath. 
He said you were to enjoy yourself, wherever you 
were; and we’ll find our own way for that.” 

Beatrice had turned deadly pale, but her voice 
was still steady and low. 

4 ‘ Papa ! What else did he say ? Shall I be 
well when the year is out ? Did he say I should 
ever walk again ?’ ’ 

Mr. Marston made a determined effort, freed 
himself and sprang up. 

1 1 Why do n’ t you ask your mother about all 
these things? Or get Parker up here? What do 
I know about it? Walk again? Of course you 
will ! And just as well and as soon without a 
great man to tell you so. He expects it, though. 
Didn’t I tell you he does? He thinks, at the 
end of a year — ” 

Beatrice waved him a little gesture, but her 
head lay back upon her pillows, and her eyes 
were closed. 

Suddenly she opened them, and looked stead- 
ily into her father’s face. 

“ Papa, he does not think I shall walk then ! 
He does not think I ever shall ! At least, he 


FOR A YEAR AT LEAST. 


I97 

thinks it doubtful. He isn’t sure. Oh, why 
did n’t he tell me? I see it all now !” 

She closed her eyes again, as if to see some- 
thing more distinctly, and then opened them with 
a frightened look. 

“But I can’t, papa! I can’t have it so! 
Don’t you see I can’t? There is so much to do. 
I was going to be so busy finding work ! What 
could I ever do — of what use could I be in ‘ the 
vineyard ’ — how could I even give a cup of cold 
water shut up here? Oh, where is mamma?” 

Mr. Marston thankfully made his escape to 
his wife’s morning-room below. 

“Go up to Beatrice, please,” he said. “I’ve 
made a bad piece of work,” and seizing his hat, 
he pulled open the front-door and was gone. 


198 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRTS. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE LANDRY ROAD COTTAGE. 

Squire Mountford sat in his office that 
morning by the luxurious table that Mysie had 
seen through the side-lights of the door. The 
old brass-handled secretary that had seemed so 
stately to her on the opposite side of the room, 
stood with its desk-lid let down, and strewn over 
with papers pulled from pigeon-holes above. 
The squire’s mail had just come in, and there 
were some things, evidently, that did not please 
him in its news, and some that called for investi- 
gation and hunting up of claims. 

u A queer sort of world this is to work in,” he 
ejaculated at last, “if a man may give the best 
that’s in him to building up a fortune, only to 
see fools, or knaves, perhaps, pull it down again. 
Here are these stocks managed, or mismanaged, 
so that I don’t believe they’ll ever float again; 
and a vexatious piece of work, Stanton underta.- 
king to contest my claim. The best property af- 
ter all, I believe, is just plain Northfield real es- 
tate. I wish every farthing I had ever saved was 
in it to-day. There is nothing safer. If a mort- 


THE LANDRY ROAD COTTAGE. 1 99 

gage don’t pay, foreclose it; that’s all. And 
that’s what I have to do, by the way, on that Tan- 
dry Road cottage Macdonald is living in. I’ve 
taken my risks there a good many years, and I 
thought at one time he ’d pay up. But there is a 
hitch in the thing, evidently, at last. They’ve 
had their three weeks out, and a week of grace 
over. They would not have let it go like that if 
there had been any chance; they think too much 
of what they have put in. I am sorry they are 
unlucky, but we all have to take our share of 
that. These letters this morning lose me as 
much, twice over, and if people mismanage for 
me at a distance, I must take the more care of 
myself near home. I’ll ride out there and see.” 

Mr. Mountford folded and filed his letters, re- 
turned all the scattered papers to their pigeon- 
holes in due order, took down his hat and his ri- 
ding whip, and left the room. Something in the 
sound of the door as he closed it, and the pull that 
settled the hat on his head as he went on, did not 
promise very well for reprieves. It was a busi- 
ness outlook, evidently, and a pretty sharp one, 
for that day. 

He passed the square porch at the rear of 
the house on his way to the stable for his horse. 
It was not large, but had double rows of heavy 
round pillars, and, like everything else about the 


200 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

place, might have been comfortable and attrac- 
tive if the two reigning spirits within had not 
kept it so endlessly swept, shaven, and shorn. 

They were there now, both of them ; old Han- 
nah just shuffling out towards the upper step with 
a flower-pot in her hand, and Miss Mountford at 
the threshold, with a feather duster in hers. 

“It’s just a rubbishy thing,” Hannah was 
saying as he came in sight; “it’s cluttered that 
window shelf over long, and I’ll be glad to see 
the last of it, I’m sure.” 

“ Shake it out, anywhere out of sight,” said 
Miss Mountford’ s voice. “It can’t be anything 
Dick cares for, and he ’ll hardly expect me to 
move it for dusting very much longer, I think.” 

‘ ‘ Let me see, if you please, ’ ’ said the squire, 
stepping quickly up to the porch. “ I ’ll decide 
whether I care for it, if you ’ll allow.” 

It was a rare bulb that a sea captain, a friend, 
had given him a few months before. Mr. Mount- 
ford did not value such things particularly for 
himself, it is true, but he liked them to give 
away. He had planted it, and spoken of it 
to Miss Stuyvesant, but had concluded it was 
never coming up, and it had passed out of mind. 
It was growing finely now, and a bud was swell- 
ing the lower part of the stalk. 

Hannah had started, as he spoke, till her loose 


THE) LANDRY ROAD COTTAGE. 


201 


cloth shoe had nearly fallen over the edge of the 
step. She handed him the pot with a look be- 
tween rebellion and dismay. She had her mis- 
tress on one side of her, even if her master was 
unexpectedly on the other. 

“I ’ll save you the trouble of ‘shaking it out,’ 
I think,” he said quietly, and a few minutes later 
was cantering out of the yard. 

Hannah looked after him, and shook her 
head. 

“If there’s any one Mr. Dick’s going to do 
business with, he’ll not find his temper the bet- 
ter for this,” she said. 

“ A very small matter for temper, one way or 
the other, I should say,” answered Miss Mount- 
ford, as she dusted her feather duster with a cloth, 
shook the cloth, folded it, and gave it to Hannah 
to put away. 

“Mr. Mountford!” exclaimed Miss Stuyve- 
sant, as her visitor was announced, her face al- 
most as dismayed as Hannah’s had been just be- 
fore. “O Geoff, this jelly of yours is just at 
the critical point ! Can’t you finish it while I go 
in? He isn’t a man to keep waiting, you know,” 
she laughed, as she unfastened a most fascinating 
white apron and laid it aside. 

Geoff pulled a wry face, and shook a mena- 
cing finger at the parlor-door. 


202 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“He’s no business calling on young ladies 
like you; he belongs before the flood, anyhow,” 
he said. “Why can’t you keep on with the jelly, 
and let him come out here, if he must? That 
apron is the prettiest thing you ’ve got. You 
lose twenty per cent, when you take it off, and I 
am in such a hurry to get this lollipop made. ’ ’ 

“ How did you say you heard of the poor fel- 
low you want it for, Geoff?” 

“Tom Macdonald? Oh, by Dr. Parker, of 
course. And Hugh Furbish, too — he is a hand 
down at the brass- works, and the newest member 
the club has taken in. He is older than most of 
us, of course, but not much over the age of Squire 
Weeks’ Jim, and first rate when we want a strong 
hand sometimes. It is out on the Tandry Road 
somewhere; I don’t know the place exactly, but 
Dick does, and I told him to come round and you 
would have the jelly hurried up.” 

“Well, I suppose we must make rich people 
‘comfortable’ as well as the rest of the world, 
and I hear Mr. Mountford fidgeting in a very un- 
com fortable way. I do n’ t think he ’ 11 stay long, ’ ’ 
and she disappeared, regardless of Geoff’s grimace 
of despair. 

Miss Stuyvesant’s reception of the plant, and 
the unfeigned pleasure it gave her, smoothed 
away the disturbance that Hannah had prophe- 


THE TAN DRY ROAD COTTAGE. 


203 

sied might reach over to some one else; but the 
letters, and the losses they threatened, still stood 
sharp in his mind. He must settle that Landry 
Road cottage business, and bring that out straight 
at least. There was no danger of his losing any- 
thing if he managed well ; and if he should hap- 
pen to be gainer in the end, why, it would be only 
fair payment for his risks, and might do a little 
towards making up what had gone to-day. 

He put his horse to the canter, but reined up 
quite as quickly again. There was Marston of 
the Mills just coming out of his gate. He would 
ask after Miss Marston as he passed; she was im- 
proving rapidly, he had heard. 

But Marston of the Mills did not seem to see 
or hear Mr. Mountford as he went on with a rapid 
stride, looking neither to the right hand nor 
the left. 

“ Strangely preoccupied he seems to be,” Mr. 
Mountford said, as he watched him a moment 
down the street. “We business men all have 
our vexations, ! suppose,” and giving the rein to 
his horse, he galloped away, this time at good 
speed. Business must have the first claim, cer- 
tainly, now. He had wasted too much time al- 
ready by the way. 

He passed the turn where Midge had watched 
Beatrice out of sight, and shot down the tree-bow- 


204 the good-times girls. 

ered avenue, past the Llewellyn house, and away. 
It did not take long to get out of town in North- 
field, and he was soon on the solitary part of the 
road. The sweep of forest trees, at the corner of 
the turn to the “ Rustling Bower,” was in sight 
now. The chimney of the cottage could be seen 
if they were not so near it and so high. 

u I hope the old wife out there — the one that 
came in the other day — wont undertake to make 
a scene,” he said, as he came rapidly near. “ If 
there is anything more out of place than another 
in business matters, it is a woman making a fuss. 
It’s intolerable. She can’t see, of course, that I 
have forborne to the last extent. I might have 
had the thing closed over their heads before now, 
instead of coming out at this late day to ask if 
they have anything to offer before I set the day 
for the sale. They wont have, of course. It’s a 
mere farce. I am sorry if it is a disappointment 
to them, but they’ll have to look out for them- 
selves as the rest of us do. They have got boys, 
I believe.” 

The cottage was in sight now. The rosebush 
was tumbling about in a shower of blossoms over 
the top of the porch, but the two red chairs un- 
derneath it were empty; there was no one in 
sight. 

The front-door stood open, but there was no 


THE LANDRY ROAD COTTAGE. 205 

sound within. Mr. Mountford dismounted, fas- 
tened his horse to the post of the little gate, 
opened it and went in. He turned his whip- 
stock uppermost in his hand for a knocker, but 
there was no need. Mysie had caught sight of 
him, as he set foot on the porch, and was coming 
with a quick step. 

“ Now for it,” he said to himself with a shrug. 
“ She’s a canny-looking old body, but I suppose 
she’s a tongue of her own.” 

There was the rustle of tidiness itself in My- 
sie’ s garments, as she drew near; her cap-frill 
was immaculate, and the face below it shone 
with a triumphant light as she looked into Mr. 
Mountford’ s eyes. 

“You’re too late!” she exclaimed exulting- 
ly. “Ye’ve just waited long enough. Ye ’ll no 
find him to-day.” 

“Not find him?” repeated Mr. Mountford, 
looking vaguely at the empty chairs. 

“Na, na; he’s gane. Ye’ll no trouble him 
wi’ your closing or your foreclosing after this ! 
Ye can say what ye like. It’ll be the same,” 
and Mysie’ s eyes shone into his, tear-swollen 
as they were. 

“What are you talking about?” asked Mr. 
Mountford irritably, with another glance at Rob’s 
chair and a quick one towards the inside of the 


206 the good-times girls. 

house. “Macdonald hasn’t turned his back on 
his debts, I hope. ’ ’ 

The shining in Mysie’s eyes turned to flash- 
ing now. “Na, na; it ’s no Rob ! Rob ’d never 
have owed a half-farthing that wasna secured to 
ye safe and sound, and he’ll no stir a hair till 
it’s made up to you, every penny he owes. Nor 
would Tom a bit more, if I hadn’t made a half 
lee to him, persuading him ye’d promised to 
wait. ’T would ha’ been hard for the angels to 
loosen him if I hadna done that. But I did it, and 
lie’s gane wi’ ’em! He’s gane wi’ no thought 
but that he was falling asleep, and his waking ’s 
where your words’ll no reach him! So ye can 
just come inside; Rob’s within.” 

When Midge and Jim sat watching the sun- 
set that evening, its strange, unusual glow struck 
through the rose- vine of Mysie’s little porch and 
fell on the floor and the braided mat, but the red 
chairs were not there. Mysie had taken them 
into the house, that Rob and herself might sit 
in them close by Tom. 

The crimson light fell through the window 
too, and seemed to stand like a cloud round the 
bed beside which they sat. 

“O Rab ! Rab !” cried Mysie suddenly; “it 
canna be that He is pitifu’ ! It canna be ! Can 
it now, Rab? Pitifu’ did you say?” 


THE LANDRY ROAD COTTAGE. 20 7 

Rob turned bis poor knotted bands over and 
slowly back again. Mysie could not bear to see 
bim do that any more; it was so like tbe way 
sbe bad seen Tom look at bis, as they grew thin- 
ner and paler every day. 

Then Rob looked at tbe crimson sunlight 
gathered about the bed, then at what lay there 
so still under its glow. 

“Were it no pitifu’ and tender mercy that 
Tom were taken away before Mountford came ?’ ’ 
he said. 


208 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WORKING OR PLEASING. 

The sun rose next morning as golden and 
clear as it had sunk glowing and sumptuous 
the night before. It was a fair summer morning, 
and the world was never more beautiful, in vel- 
vet and diamonds, flowers and robe of green. 
Could it be there were troubles walking abroad 
in it anywhere? 

There did not seem to be any in Beatrice 
Marston’s room, at least. The sunshine seemed 
to reach everywhere, and there were smiles and 
freshness, and a toilet daintier even than the one 
“Bee and her hive” had been glorifying the 
other day. 

“Tell papa to be sure and come up,” was the 
message she sent down. “Tell him he’ll find 
everything right to-day.” 

“But it wasn’t yesterday, though,” she said 
with a little shake of her head, as he came in. 
“Did mamma tell you how dreadfully I behaved? 
I believe I didn’t say anything all day but, ‘I 
can’t, I can’t possibly have it so!’ Don’t you 
see? I kept thinking of those lines you were 


WORKING OR PLEASING. 


209 

quoting to me the other day. Do n’t you remem- 
ber them, papa?” 

Yes, he remembered them, and the very spot 
where they were riding at the moment too— hard- 
ly a mile before they turned into that wretched 
mountain cross-cut not fit for any civilised trav- 
ellers to pass. 

“ ‘ More careful than to serve Thee much, 

To please Thee perfectly.’ 

That was it, wasn’t it, papa? And every time 
I thought of them I had only the same an- 
swer to make over again, ‘Oh, I can’t! I can’t 
possibly ! I’ve had my heart so set upon finding 
some service to do, I can’t give it up. And 
what can I ever do shut up here for a year, per- 
haps two years, perhaps all the rest of my life?’ 
It wasn’t that I could n’t bear shutting up — just 
by itself. I could have courage anywhere, with 
you and mamma. You understand?” 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“ But I got ashamed of myself at last. I think 
His patience must have thought it a long day of 
naughtiness to endure. But something brought 
me to my senses at last. I do want to work for 
Him. You know that. And perhaps I shall be 
well enough to be busy some day again — who 
knows? But meanwhile, why should I insist 
upon pleasing Him in my way rather than His? 

Good-Times Girls. J A 


210 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

That would be a strange kind of devotion would n’t 
it, papa!” and she held out her hand with a 
smile. 

Mr. Marston looked at her hastily. She did n’t 
look sick. What did these doctors mean by 
talking of invalidism for a year ! She had never 
been more beautiful in her life. 

“You’ll please Him wherever you are, I 
think, Trice, ’ ’ he said uneasily at last. 

Beatrice shook her head. 

“I didn’t yesterday,” she said, with another 
smile. “ But I think I see things a little better 
to-day. He knows where he wants me -to be, 
and what he wants me to do; and if he don’t 
want me to do at all, but only to be, why I must 
be busy as possible trying to grow into just what 
he wants, so glad he can care even for that. ’ ’ 

“Don’t you think ‘being’ does any good?” 

“Oh, if I could be anything worth having, 
papa. But he’ll have to help me so much to- 
wards that. And in the meantime, even while 
I’m shut up, who knows but there’ll be some 
little bit I can do now and then, after all?” 

“And you don’t think doing for your father 
and mother anything, then?” 

“ Papa ! what do you mean? You know it’s 
just life itself, being what we are to each other 
every day.” 


WORKING OR PLEASING. 


21 1 


“But you’ll get well, child. You’ll not 
stay here, in this way, very long. It can’ t be. ” 

“I don’t know, papa. We can’t tell. I 
wonder I didn’t see it at first. But it will be 
just as the dear Lord pleases. You do want it 
all to be so— you want me to ‘please him per- 
fectly,’ don’t you, whether in this room or else- 
where?” 

Mr. Marston half rose hurriedly, and then sat 
down again by her side. 

“Yes, Trice, I want him to have his way, I 
believe. I used to feel sure of it, but I’m afraid 
moth and rust are eating into me a little, with 
this endless working for dollars and cents. If 
you’ll take that trip abroad with me now, per- 
haps I can forget them, and my soul will have a 
little chance.”* 

Beatrice looked wistfully at him a moment 
and the tears sprang into her eyes. 

“Dear papa, you don’t mean that! You 
can’t, really. You’re tired, that’s all. You’re 
ground to powder in that old mill! It’s too 
hard; but just have courage a little longer, and 
you shall have every bit of me, to go where you 
will, the moment I can step! I can’t do any 
service the dear Lord will like better, I know.” 

There was a little tap at the door, and Nora 
looked in. 


212 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


“ Did you want me?” Beatrice asked. 

“No, Miss Beatrice, I was looking for Mrs. 
Marston. She said if I ever saw that strange 
little one-sided child at the hedge again I was to 
let her know.” 

Beatrice looked bewildered, and Nora went on, 

‘ ‘ She was there every day for a week, when 
first you were hurt; but she slipped away just as 
Mrs. Marston caught sight of her, and I have n’ t 
once caught her since, not till a moment ago. 
It’s queer the way she does. You’d think, to 
look at her, her eyes were hungry for something 
they think is inside.” 

“Oh, do go to her, Nora!” said Beatrice 
eagerly. “I know who she is. I ’ve been wish- 
ing she ’d come. Be sure you do n’t let her take 
fright and get away. It must be shyness that 
keeps her outside. And tell her — tell her I’ve 
been disappointed that she didn’t come; that I 
want her to see the flowers. Say that I can’t go 
out with her now, but that I ’d like to show her 
some lovely ones that I have in my room. Run, 
Nora, and don’t let her slip away !” 

“It’s that poor little thing that we saw with 
her father one day, papa,” Beatrice went on, in 
answer to a look, more bewildered than her own 
had been, on her father’s face. “Jim Burlock, 
did n’t you say? The big fellow with the dinner- 


WORKING OR PLEASING. 213 

pail. I’ve heard of her since; they say she has 
a passionate love for flowers; and, of course, she 
hasn’t many; and just see what I happen to 
have, right here ! Who knows but it will be as 
much of a treat to her as a Vatican picture gal- 
lery would to you or me?” 

“Very possibly you may work up such a de- 
lusion,” said Mr. Marston, rising, “but I’ll take 
myself out of the way without waiting to see. 
I ’ 11 ask for a report of your success another 
time.” 

He went rather hastily down the heavily-car- 
peted stairway, just as Nora was ushering Midge 
up by a side entrance leading the same way. It 
was a queer notion Trice had taken, of getting 
mill-people into the house; but he was glad of 
anything that would amuse her just now. Per- 
haps he might have done more to find out their 
likings himself, if he had had Beatrice’s way of 
looking at things. 

Work for the Master? He didn’t know. He 
had had more work of his own than he could 
stagger under, he had thought. He had always 
been ready with subscriptions when they were 
asked for, but still — and he shut the door quickly 
behind him and made haste towards the mill. 


214 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MIDGE IN MISS BEATRICE’S ROOM. 

Meantime Nora was getting Midge into the 
house and over the stairs as well as she could, but 
she had looked round once or twice to see what 
made the child so slow. Midge was doing her 
best, but it seemed as if her feet were two pieces 
of stone, while all the rest of her was floating 
through a strange, wonderful dream that could 
never come true. 

She reached the top of the stairs, and then the 
door of the room, and one step inside, but there 
she stood still. She couldn’t breathe, and it 
did n’t seem to her she should ever breathe again. 
Yes, that was Miss Marston sitting there — this 
was her room — who would ever have supposed 
there was a room like that in the world ! She 
couldn’t see what was in it, only — how Miss 
Marston’ s hair looked like a crown, with the 
sunlight shining on it so ! 

Suddenly she threw out her hands towards 
Beatrice with a gesture and a cry: 

“Oh, I didn’t suppose I could ever come 
here ! If I could — if I can — ’ ’ 


MIDGE IN MISS BEATRICE’S ROOM. 215 

The tears sprang into Miss Marston’s eyes. 
“ Come !” she said, stretching out her own hands 
hastily, and Midge pulled her feet along — why 
wouldn't they move? — and got over to Miss 
Marston’s chair; and the next moment she felt 
an arm put gently round her and pressing her 
to Miss Marston’s side. 

“ Come then, little one,” Beatrice was saying. 
il Come close ! Why do you care so much? Oh, 
why did n’t I find it out long ago?” 

But still Midge did not speak. It seemed as 
if her lips were stone now, as well as her feet ; 
but her brain was n’t ! It was whirling away at 
everything. Did the Llewellyn girl ever get so 
11 close” as this? Would Miss Marston’s arm 
feel the shape of her back, coming right across 
it as it did? And oh, why hadn’t she known 
what was coming and put on the cashmere shawl ! 

She broke out at last, with her great eyes 
shining into Miss Marston’s as if they would 
never let go. 

1 1 The day you w T ent to the church — you know 
when it was — I wanted to come closer ! If I 
could have come closer — -just so that I could see 
— closer to the lilies and you — if I could have 
done like the Llewellyn girl, I thought I’d be 
ready to die. But coming like this! I didn’t 
suppose anybody in the world — ” and Midge felt 


216 the good-times girds. 

such a strange little shiver run over her, though 
her eyes never stirred. How soft everything was 
that touched her ! She didn’t know any one’s 
clothes were like that! She didn’t know — and 
then she gave the least bit of a sniff with the tip 
of her brown little nose. 

Was everything flowers up here? She smelled 
them, she was sure ! 

“Closer? Did you want to come closer? 
And why did n’t you come ? I was so sorry when 
I found you had run away. Thorne told me,” 
Beatrice said. 

Midge drew one long breath that seemed to go 
down to her very depths. How should she have 
thought of going? But the long breath did her 
good, and she went on, 

“But you sent ’em to me afterwards. They 
came that night, as tall and as white, and they 
grew all night ! Deastways, I thought they did, 
but I could n’ t seem to be sure. ’ ’ 

“All night! Did they?” laughed Beatrice, 
and Midge laughed too, and Beatrice pointed to a 
little stool and made Midge sit down. 

“See here,” she said, “here are more. Cal- 
las this time, but I like them just as well, don’t 
you?” and she took a vase from a stand close by. 

Midge shut her little fists tight. Her heart 
was giving such thumps she felt she must hold 




























MIDGE IN MISS BEATRICE’S ROOM. 2,1 *] 

hard to something. She never had seen a calla 
before, not in all the windows she had ever stood 
in front of because there was a flower inside. 

But Beatrice was laughing again, a laugh 
that somehow made the thumps easier; and Midge 
had a silent feeling that that was just what it 
was meant to do. 

“Do you like them, little heart? Tell me 
what you are thinking behind those eyes.” 
Midge pulled the eyes away from the callas 
and lifted them to Miss Marston’s own. 

‘ ‘ I was wondering if they growed, or if they 
somehow came down from God.” 

Beatrice looked back into the strange little 
face, and then, stooping suddenly, Midge felt a 
long, soft kiss on her forehead, just where it was 
puckering with the whirl of strange thoughts 
behind. 

That was too much ! Midge felt a thrill go- 
ing down to her toes and out to her finger-tips. 
She was in Miss Marston’s room — Miss Marston’s 
arm had been around her — but now ! and she put 
up her tapering little hand suddenly to feel of the 
spot. She could just hear what Miss Marston 
was saying through it all. 

“Both, little one. They grew, and they 
came from Him. They are all the dearer for 
that; don’t you think so?” 


2i8 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


Midge did not answer directly. She was ga- 
zing more earnestly than ever into Beatrice’s 
face. 

“ I was asking Jim about it,” she said. “ I 
was asking him if he knew whether He ever real- 
ly came close. I was at the Bonn Marchee, and 
she said He did. Then I thought I knew, the 
night the lilies were beside my bed. And He 
comes here, of course. There wouldn’t be any 
other way. But Jim said he didn’t know. It 
w r as no use asking him.” 

“Wasn’t it?” asked Beatrice, with her arm 
quickly around Midge again. “Did not Jim 
know? Tell him He comes so close that He is 
just ‘standing outside’ to every one; and if we’ll 
only open the door he comes closer yet — so close 
that we can’t even say he is ‘near;’ we find he 
has come right in. Will you tell Jim ?” 

Midge nodded, and Beatrice smiled and took 
Midge’s pointed little chin in her hand. That 
seemed so strange. No one else but Jim had 
ever done that. 

“I’ve been looking for you so long,” she 
said. ‘ ‘ I wonder why you never came. I wish 
now I had sent Thorne down to bring you. I 
wanted to show you about. And now I am lone- 
ly, shut up here. Don’t you suppose I am?” 

“I didn’t dare,” said Midge slowly. “But 


MIDGE IN MISS BEATRICE’S ROOM. 219 

I saw the Llewellyn girl come. I ran away after 
that, and thought I ’d never come to the hedge 
again. But I couldn’t help it to-day. I wish 
though,” and Midge looked suddenly around a 
little towards her back, “I wish I had thought 
and only had on the shawl. ’ ’ 

4 4 The shawl ?’ ’ asked Beatrice wonderingly. 

4 4 But it was you I wanted to see, you know, and 
not shawls. And I want you to come again. 
We shall find so many things to say, and I 
have to stay shut up so long. You must enter- 
tain me, and tell me all the things you do every 
day.” 

44 Who were you nodding to?” asked Midge 
suddenly, as Beatrice sent a smile and a little sa- 
lute through the window at some passers-by. 

4 4 Who?” asked Beatrice, laughing. “That 
was Miss Fanny Stacy and Miss Helen Fortes- 
cue. They were driving together and looked 
up.” 

4 Do they come up here?” asked Midge 
again, with another start. 

“Yes, sometimes.” 

“Oh!” said Midge slowly. 44 1 knew the 
Llewellyn girl did ; and I thought it was the 
clothes. ’ ’ 

4 4 The clothes ! What do you mean?” echoed 
Beatrice ; but Midge was watching the phaeton 


220 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


out of sight. It was not the clothes after all, for 
she was here herself now, without even the 
shawl. Oh, if she could only have known it 
long ago ! 

Fanny and Helen had sent as sharp a look up 
at the window as Midge had given in return, and 
Helen had loosened the touch she was just laying 
upon the rein. It was not the right time to stop 
at Miss Marston’s, that was plain, and she would 
not even let it be seen that she had intended do- 
ing so. 

“Who has Miss Beatrice got with her now ?” 
she exclaimed, as she touched up her pony with 
the whip. “Don’t you see that little head and 
that queer back ?” 

“Yes; I know who it is. She often passes 
our house, and I see her going into Room No. 4, 
at school. But how she ever got there!” and 
Fanny gave a half-gasp of bewilderment as she 
spoke. 

“Well, she has the ground, at any rate. We 
will drive on for half an hour and come back.” 

The half-hour stretched into three-quarters; 
she “wanted to make sure of it,” Helen said, and 
a glance at the window showed her that she had 
succeeded, when they returned. 

“The coast is clear,” she exclaimed in a 
satisfied tone, but at that moment she caught 


MIDGE IN MISS BEATRICE’S ROOM. 221 

sight of two figures moving about in the par- 
terres. 

“ She hasn’t really gone, though. There she 
is with Thorne. I do believe he has been ta- 
king her all about. There, she is turning to go 
now, with her hands just loaded. Did you ever 
know anything so queer ? And look at her face ! 
I believe she is just bursting!” 

“I don’t see anything queer in it, ’ ’ retorted 
Fanny, bridling a little. “Miss Marston is just 
angelic to everybody, and she can’t help it; and 
so any one who comes in her way gets a share.” 

“ Do they ? Det ’s go in and get ours, then,” 
and Helen turned her pony’s head to the gate. 

Midge came out just as Helen drew the tie- 
strap through its ring. She saw them and she 
saw it all ; but she did not care. What were pha- 
etons, or clothes, or even not having had on the 
shawl, to her ! Or what did she care who went 
in? She knew Miss Marston now! And she 
was coming again. She was coming “once a 
week,” and she had more flowers than she had 
ever touched in her life; and she was going home 
to think how she could ever get them fixed so as 
to give Jim the greatest surprise. She should n’t 
wonder if another supper at home, and the flow- 
ers all around the table, would be the best ; but 
she should have to think. 


222 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


u How slie did look at us! But she didn’t 
seem to see us, at the same time,” laughed Hel- 
en, as she watched Midge down the walk. 
“ Those flowers must have filled her eye.” 

u Or Miss Marston,” suggested Fanny, w T ith a 
half-doleful little grimace. “I hope she has not 
cut us out. ’ ’ 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 223 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 

Midge had not done that, it was very plain, 
from the welcome they found up stairs, and they 
sat down to make up for their lost half-hour by a 
faster chatter than they usually thought becom- 
ing in Miss Marston’s room. 

“You see, we went past without stopping 
once, and that makes us late,” Helen began, as 
she seated herself on the stool Midge had left a 
little before. “I don’t believe it was much loss 
to you, though, if Fanny feels as stupid as I do 
to-day. We were out till eleven and after last 
night, and I suppose that ’s just a wee bit latish 
for girls like us. But we did have such a nice 
time ! It was the Livingstons’ party, you know. 

“.Mop Livingston is ever so nice, and she did 
have everything perfect. She is dying to come 
in here with me, too.” 

“Is she?” laughed Beatrice. “Why doesn’t 
she come, then? You have carte blanche for all 
your friends, you know. ’ ’ 

“Yes, but she wont take it that way. She is 
just the least bit proud or shy, or whatever it may 


224 THE good-times girds. ' 

be; I don’t pretend to know, because that is not 
my way. But if I could once tell her that you 
said you ’d like it — ” 

“Tell her that I said I should be charmed. 
Would that be enough?” 

“Oh dear, yes, I should think so! Ten 
times enough for me; but Moppet is different. It 
is the only fault she has though — if it is a fault — 
unless just the tiniest, tiniest little bit of temper. 
But everybody likes her, for all that, and we did 
have the loveliest time. Did n’t we, Fan?” 

“Yes; I believe so,” responded Fanny, with 
the languid tone that had never followed her into 
Miss Marston’s room before. “Only, it’s nice 
enough at the time, but the next day I don’t 
know that I care very much. ’ ’ 

Helen laughed. 

“Poor Fan!” she said. “She’s been on a 
regular Diogenes search, almost lantern and all, 
for the last three weeks, trying to find a genuine 
good time, and she has pretty nearly given up in 
despair. ’ ’ 

“Helen!” exclaimed Fanny, with a warning 
shake of her finger from where she sat. 

“Oh, but I must tell,” ran on Helen. “Who 
knows but Miss Marston can give a little light, 
hopeless as the subject is? She really went hith- 
er and thither, Miss Beatrice, and at last she got 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 225 

the rest of us stirred up and we joined the search, 
and not a bit of luck yet. You ’ve heard of The 
Comfortable Club — the Blue-Badgers? Anyhow 
there is such a set, and don’t you think The 
Good-Times — ” 

“ Helen !” broke in Fanny desperately, spring- 
ing from her chair, with a crimson spot flushing 
into each cheek. “Don’t listen to her, Miss 
Beatrice. She really has a way of running on 
that ’s just — ” 

“Just her own? Yes, I think she has, but 
then we all understand it, and so it’s quite the 
same,” said Beatrice, drawing Fanny down to a 
chair at her side and putting her hand under the 
chin of the chatterbox on the stool. 

It was very much such a touch as she had 
given to Midge’s an hour before, but somehow 
Helen felt that it quietly put a stop to the rest of 
her story about ‘ ‘ The Good-Times Girls. ’ ’ 

Fanny saw what it was doing too, and hesi- 
tated. She had a great mind to tell the whole 
thing herself. It was nothing to be ashamed of, 
certainly, and Miss Marston might think it was 
if she made a fuss. She might tell half of it, 
perhaps, but not exactly all about the club. 

But Miss Marston was n’t giving her time. 

“ Good times are rather hard to hunt up, now 
and then, aren’t they?” she said. “Don’t you 
15 


Good-Times Girls. 


226 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

see how enviable I am, with nothing to do but 
to sit here and take them as they are brought 
in?” 

The girls both gave a little gasp and drew 
a long breath at once. 

“Oh, I do think you’re too lovely to say 
that !” exclaimed Helen in spite of the hold on 
her chin. “As if you had n’t everything to bear, 
and as if it could possibly be a ray of satisfaction 
to have girls like us running in here. ’ ’ 

“The least ray!” laughed Beatrice, “it’s a 
whole morning-full. Only I get a shabby feeling 
in the midst of it all, to be taking so much while 
I have so little to give. If you can only find me 
a fairy godmother’s wand, so that I could balance 
things a little more, my ( good times ’ would be 
perfect then.” 

“O Miss Beatrice!” exclaimed Helen, with 
quite a distressed look this time. “I don’t see 
how you can say all that ! You know we just 
feast when we come here.” 

“Do you? Yes, I know you do, because you 
see how much pleasure I get. But it’s a feast of 
pretty small things, aside from that, I think.” 

Fanny had started at what Beatrice had said 
first, and now she was looking at her with great 
eyes and with a new idea and a new resolution 
struggling together in her mind. 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 22J 

Was it possible that Miss Beatrice— Miss Bea- 
trice who had always had everything that the 
world could hold, and who knew what she was 
talking about too, that she thought the best or 
the only real good time was in giving pleasure 
to somebody else? She was going to find out! 
She wouldn’t be ashamed to ask for once. 

“Now I do wish you would tell me— I’m 
just going to tell you,” she began with a helter- 
skelter tumble into the whole thing. “It’s all 
true what Helen was telling you: I have been 
thinking everything was the most tiresome thing, 
and I did wish there was a little more ‘good 
times.’ And I thought ’t would be so easy to get 
some up, if I only roused up a little (you know 
I don’t like rousing up much, but I did it for all 
that); and I did stir up the girls a little, as Helen 
says I did, and it all didn’t seem to come to any- 
thing after all. Things were all good enough,- 1 
suppose, but somehow — I began to think it was 
because we had n’t anybody to help us — and now 
I do just want to know what you meant by some- 
thing you said. You said you couldn’t have a 
perfectly good time because you didn’t see what 
you could do for us. That wasn’t so strange, I 
could half way comprehend that because you are 
ten times more like an angel than any one I ever 
saw; but when you began to talk as if we felt so 


228 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


too, as if we knew we had the best time when 
we could please somebody else — will you please 
tell me what you really mean?’’ and Fanny leaned 
back in her chair with a queer sort of fluttering 
feeling as if she must have a rest. She had 
hardly ever said so much in one breath in her 
life, and she did hate turning her thoughts inside 
out. 

Beatrice looked quickly over at her, and then 
as quickly away. She thought Fanny was for 
the moment where she would quite as lieve have 
her looking at Helen instead. 

“She doesn’t really mean it, does she? She 
doesn’t really mean it, do you think she does? 
She’s found out all those things for herself, long 
ago — both of you have, of course. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I do mean every word of it,” began 
Fanny desperately again. “I’ve been all in a 
puzzle for a month, and I ’m more so than ever 
now. Helen talks about Diogenes’ lanterns; I 
wish there really were some. I do n’ t suppose it ’s 
worth so much bother, but somehow I can’t bear 
to give up. We were going to have a club — 
there, I will tell you the whole — but ’twas of no 
use. It wouldn’t work. I suppose we weren’t 
old enough, but there are clubs no older than 
we. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Old enough ! Why, it ’ s the very being young 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 229 

that’s the best of it ! I expect girls as fresh as 
you to find good times in just living and breath- 
ing, and having everything so new and bright 
under your feetj Every run in the sunshine, 
every turn in the phaeton together, and every 
little hob-nob up in your rooms must be a ‘ good 
time ’ now, before you get to be stiff old ladies 
like me ! And there are such hosts of things 
besides. You must be just running over with 
‘good time’ every hour!” 

Fanny made a quick little gesture for reply. 
Should she never understand it all ! She sup- 
posed she had been looking for something a little 
extra, not every-day things, and then — 

“But you don’t think it’s the best kind of 
good time, after all? Not the very nicest, not 
really the very — oh dear, I wish you would just 
tell me, if it isn’t too much plague. If I once 
understand, I suppose I shouldn’t care any more. 
But I did hate most dreadfully to give up the 
idea of the club.” 

‘ ‘ And why need you give it up ? A ‘ Good- 
Times Club,’ was it? I think it would be charm- 
ing. But about the very best ‘ good time ’ — do 
you really want me to tell you? Just to hear 
me say it, for you know, of course. ’ ’ 

“No, I don’t know a bit! That’s what I 
keep trying to say. I don’t suppose it’s worth 


230 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

worrying so much about. I’m almost tired of 
it. I never did • bother so much about anything 
before; but somehow there it is, all the time.” 

“Well, then, let me see, if you’re tired of it 
I must try to choose the fewest words — this is the 
way it always seems to me: suppose that in- 
stead of the very plain, quiet fashion in which 
things go on here, we were like some other peo- 
ple in the world and had a king; and suppose 
we could look over into the palaces, and into the 
flower-terraces, and into the fruit-gardens, and 
even get glimpses into the very court itself ; and 
suppose we could even see the king and the 
prince going about among all the rest, and could 
get an idea of what they chose, out of all the 
treasures in their reach, to give them greatest 
happiness, and to fill the days fullest of delight. 
Don’t you think we should be apt to say, 4 Oh, 
if I could only do as the king does ! If I could 
only choose, as he does, out of every delighq 
ful thing!”’ 

“ Apt to !” exclaimed both girls in a breath 

“Well, then, suppose w T e look at the de 
Lord’s kingdom, and his ways and doings in : 
in the same way. The King himself no eye hr . 
seen, but he has told us endless things abor 
himself, and about his home, and what its j 
and its beauty are; and the Prince himself lef 


the idea finding shape at last. 231 

all and lived among us year after year, to let us 
see. You know how it all was, dear,” and Bea- 
trice drew a bit of heliotrope from a vase close 
by, and slipped it into Fanny’s belt. 

“Do I?” answered Fanny doubtfully. “I 
never thought of it like that" 

“Like what, dear? Of course you have 
thought of those tireless feet that went back 
and forth over the hills, wherever they could 
help, and of those patient hands that were al- 
ways reaching out a gift ; of the little touches 
here, and the little helps just in time some- 
where else, and the words of comfort, and the 
tender friendliness, and the healing of broken 
hearts. Sometimes it was only a ‘ Peace be 
unto you,’ or a ‘Be of good cheer;’ it wasn’t 
always a mighty work ; but he called it all ‘ his 
meat and his drink,’ and said that if ‘his joy’ 
should be in us, ‘ our joy should be full.’ Do n’t 
°*u see? You remember it all !” 
j c “Remember it? Why, yes — that is, I sup- 
:>se so, of course. But I never knew, I never 
* ought— do you really suppose that was the 
p ay? Do you really suppose he chose all those 
yhings because he liked them best?” 
n , “Did n’t he tell us that no man took his life 
Dm him, but that it was he himself who laid it 
k vn ? Of course he chose. ’ ’ 


i 


232 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“But didn’t he want anything for himself?” 

Beatrice lifted the purple head of the helio- 
trope and bent her own closer to it for a long, 
delicious breath. 

“Sometimes I think he made these like him- 
self,” she said. “This has its beauty for a 
crown, but it gives and gives of its sweetness, 
and then it has our love back again for what it 
gives! Wouldn’t you call that ‘having any- 
thing of its own’?” 

“ I see it ! I really do believe I begin to see 
it!” exclaimed Helen, starting up. “ If I could 
be as exquisite as a heliotrope ! Just giving out 
loveliness all the time, and having the delight of 
seeing people revel in it; having them cheered 
up and comforted, and feeling as if life was de- 
licious because of it, and never even doing it for 
the sake of having them love me, only for their 
sakes; and then really getting their love back for 
it, after all! Don’t you see it, Fan? Only — 
oh, dear me ! How ’s any one ever coming with- 
in a million miles of such a thing?” and Helen 
sank back with an air of despair. 

Fanny sat still, with a look of thickening per- 
plexities on her face. 

“But,” she began hesitatingly, “but we 
can’t do miracles, if we try.” 

“No, we can’t,” said Beatrice. 


“ But we 


the; idea finding shape at last. 233 

can do quiet, steady little bits of work, and we 
can pick up chances, and we can say, ‘Be of 
good cheer, ’ once in a while, when we see some 
one’s strength giving out.” 

“But then Christ seemed to come here with 
something special determined on to do. You 
don’t suppose, now that that is all over— you 
do n’t suppose he is working for us still?” 

“Don’t I?” and Miss Marston’s blue eyes 
shone with surprise. “I wonder how this flower 
came to be here?” and she lifted the heliotrope’s 
head once more. “Do you think the world is 
strewed with bits of sweetness that he hasn’t be- 
thought himself to send? Do you think those 
pierced hands are idle, or that heart of his has 
changed? I think he’s busy every moment, 
dear, so busy, thinking for us, planning for us, 
sending us bits of help, coming to us himself ; 
did you never feel him when you’ve asked it, or 
even when you haven’t, coming close? And 
busy bringing all things out right for us, so that 
there shall be nothing but joy and beauty by-and- 
by ! And in the meantime, the happier we can 
make ourselves the better he is pleased. Only, 
he knows that the nearer we can come to his way 
of doing it, the more nearly we get at the true 
thing. Don’t you suppose he likes to see you 
running about in the free air and sunshine that 


234 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 


he made for you, and finding pleasures strewn 
about in the way? But at the same time, the 
more the love of him, and love like his to others, 
keeps you thinking of them, the more glad he is. 
Don’t you see?” 

“/do!” exclaimed Helen. “I see just ex- 
actly what you mean ; and I think the next time 
we set off on a regular hunt after a good time, 
we’ll try to fix up something that wont be alto- 
gether for ourselves, something that will have 
a share in it, at least, for other folks ! Now if 
we once had a club of that kind, Fanny ! 
There ’d be something worth while in that; 
shouldn’t you say there would?” 

“Yes, I should!” said Fanny, ready to em- 
phasize at last. ( ‘ I suppose any club would be 
a good deal of bother though, and then we should 
certainly need some one to help us, if we tried 
that !” 

Helen gave a swift look, before she knew it 
herself, into Beatrice’s face. 

“What is it?” asked Beatrice, catching the 
look to Helen’s great dismay. “Can’t I have 
your thought, maiden fair?” 

“Oh,” stammered Helen, in great confusion, 
“I only thought — if you were only well — if you 
were going to be well pretty soon — but we should 
not have thought of asking it — of course I do n’ t 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT LAST. 2?>5 

think of asking it — but it was just a thought that 
if we could have had a Good-Times Club, and 
tried to have the very best kind of good times, 
and you could — would, I mean — have helped us, 
how perfectly lovely it would have been !” 

“Would it? Do you really think so? Then 
I don’t see that there’s any need of waiting for 
me to ‘get well.’ What could I have to think 
about that w T ould be half as delightful while I’m 
waiting here ? The waiting is not going to make 
haste, in the least ; I have found that out; and I 
must have something to keep my spirits up, in 
the meantime !” 

Fanny and Helen had both sprung to their 
feet now. 

“You don’t mean — you can’t possibly mean 
that you really would take all that trouble for us 
few girls?” they gasped. “You don’t think 
you’re well enough? Shouldn’t we make you 
sick, and worry your life out besides?” 

Beatrice laughed. 

“ You ’d make me well, rather than sick; and 
I should feel more proud and delighted than I 
ever was in my life !” 

“But, ‘something to think about,’ you said! 
Wouldn’t it be more than that, a good deal? 
And you ’re not well enough, certainly, to do — ” 

“No, T should n’t use anything but my wits. 


236 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

I shall’put all the ‘doing’ right on your shoulders 
and leave it there. You must be sure you would 
like that before we settle anything further. It is 
very fine to sit still and order other people, you 
know.” 

Fanny and Helen looked into each other’s 
eyes. Fanny was wide-awake at last; there were 
no more easy-chairs for her just now ! The en- 
thusiasm that had sent her suddenly round to 
Bee’s, a month or more ago, was up again now, 
and ten times nearer fever heat. 

‘ ‘ I never heard anything so lovely in all my 
life!” she exclaimed. “Now, Helen, you see 
there was something in my idea after all ! I 
never should have brought it to anything, it ’s 
true, but with Miss Marston it will be just deli- 
cious ! Only, it do n’t really seem as if we ought; 
and I do n’t see how we can ever thank Miss Bea- 
trice for even offering such a thing.” 

“Wait till you have had a month’s trial,” 
laughed Beatrice. ‘ ‘ When you find me fairly 
holding the sceptre, playing dictatress right and 
left, it may be a serious matter after all, you 
know. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ O Miss Beatrice ! But what shall we real- 
ly do? You don’t want us coming here, all in a 
pile, to get directions, of course.” 

“Yes, I want you coming ‘ all in a pile ’ once 


THE IDEA FINDING SHAPE AT EAST. 237 

every week, and staying all tlie afternoon besides. 
Then I shall be sure of visitors for that time at 
least. As for the rest, we will find our way to 
that as it comes along. You can choose your 
own club members and your own afternoon ; my 
sway is n’t to be absolute, quite.” 

“But sha’ n’t we bring anything?” asked 
Fanny, with a half feeling of responsibility lin- 
gering yet. 

“Yes, indeed! Bring your wits and your 
thimbles, and your best spirits and some scissors, 
and any bright ideas you may have, and a pencil 
or two besides. We’ll say scissors and thimbles 
the first time, to make sure, but we may rise 
above even those another day. ’ ’ 


238 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ROOM THAT DID NOT LOOK WELL. 

There was a great stir of excitement in the 
camp when the news was carried about; and the 
carrying process had been swift. That phaeton 
had whirled around more than one corner on its 
way home, and there was a hurry-skurrying be- 
tween houses that made the girls of that “set” 
look like the business women of the street. 
“ The Good-Times Girls ” were fairly a company 
now. 

Not that they had organized with any solemn 
ceremony yet; they had only “agreed,” as Bee 
called it, for the present at least. 

‘ ‘ And I do n’ t see why agreeing is not 
enough,” Fanny said. “ I never did like a fuss 
about what any one was going to do.” 

“Well, if it is enough, we certainly are all 
right,” said another voice; “but I should think 
Miss Beatrice might have something to say about 
that. She left us to choose the day, though, did 
she not, Nell?” 

“Yes,” said Helen. “Now don’t all speak 
at once, but we must settle whether it’s Saturday 


THE ROOM THAT DID NOT LOOK WELL. 239 

or not. Saturdays we can begin and leave off 
just where we like. Other days it would be only 
after school is out — three o’clock — and school 
leaves us tired and cross sometimes. But Satur- 
days, we might wish we had our time for some- 
thing else, once in a while. Now for a vote. 
Saturday — right hands up. Contrary minds? 
Saturday has it, to begin with at least. And 
somebody must go and let Miss Beatrice know. 
Vote again, girls. Voting ’s delicious, I think!” 

“ But no one ’s told us whom to vote for.” 

“Oh, so they haven’t! Then I nominate 
May Llewellyn. It ’s such a trial to her to go to 
Miss Beatrice’s it will be good discipline, I know. 
Hands up ! It’s a vote. May’s the one. Oh, I 
forgot contrary minds; but there weren’t any, I 
know — ’ ’ 

“But I nominate, in addition,” buzzed in 
Bee, “that Miss Helen Fortescue, being the only 
one of us sumptuous enough to drive her own 
phaeton, shall make use of that vehicle and take 
our committee to the spot. It don’t look well to 
let her walk, the very first committee we have to 
send.” 

“That’s the truth, Bee. When shall I call 
for you, May?” 

May’s heart rather sank. If the whole truth 
had been told, she would have been far more de- 


240 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

lighted to go alone; but committees can’t be sen- 
timental, and it was nice to settle back in a phae- 
ton like that, after all ! 

“ I ’ll be around right after tea,” Helen said. 
“You see, it’s Thursday now, and we ought to 
give at least so much notice, I should think.” 

The sunset was piling up in great castles and 
crags of fire w T hen the double committee turned 
the corner of Midge’s little street. 

“You wont mind my coming this way, will 
you, May?” Helen asked. “I want to stop at 
poor Miss Myrtle Paine’s just one minute, if you 
will. She ’s going to do that dress for me next 
week. What a time she does have, does n’t she ? 
And if there isn’t that little thing we saw at Miss 
M v arston’s this morning, sitting close to the win- 
dow, and her flowers all around. Who ’s that 
black-eyed man ? Her father, I suppose. She’s 
got some of them in a mug, and there are more in 
a broken pitcher, and there is absolutely one little 
green vase! I hope she didn’t see me looking. 
I meant to ask Miss Beatrice about her. Now 
just one turn more— this is a prettier street — and 
then one minute at Miss Paine’s.” 

Midge did see them looking, and she looked 
after them as they passed; but she didn’t care! 
She was busy talking to Jim. 

“And He does do it, Jim, ’’.she was saying. 


THE ROOM THAT DID NOT LOOK WEED. 24 1 

“ Slie said he does come closer ! She said I was 
to tell you he comes closer if we open the door, 
and he’s close anyway and leastways, though we 
may never have asked him to do more. Do yon 
hear, Jim?” 

“Yes, I hear,” answered Jim, in a low, strong 
voice. 

“And she said more things, Jim, besides, but 
I ’ll tell ’em. to you when it ’s darker, so we can’t 
see the flowers so well. ’ ’ 

“Isn’t it too bad about Miss Myrtle,” went 
on Helen, as they drove along. “Ido feel so sor- 
ry for her ! And I think she’s the noblest girl I 
ever knew. I wonder if I should ever have been 
equal to it. If my father had died and left debts, 
do you believe I ’d ever have insisted that every 
single particular thing should be sold for the 
creditors, while I went off to a pokey cheap room 
and sewed and sewed, to pay for my bread and 
butter in it? Do you believe either of us would?” 

May shook her head. 

“Can’t answer such a question on a moment’s 
notice, Nell. But did she give up everything, 
are you sure?” • 

“Every individual thing — all the old furniture 
that was ever so long in the family, and all the 
newer, pretty things that she’d gathered together 
too. You know how delicate and how nice every- 


Good- Times Girl#. 


l6 


242 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

tiling always was in the house, and I know she 
misses it terribly. Of course she does; and then 
she comes to the class every Sunday looking just 
so ladylike and pretty and sweet, as she always 
did, and so bright and sunshiny too; but I know 
she’s cried her eyes out behind it all. She must 
have, if she’s made of the same flesh and blood 
as the rest of us.” 

“Well, I shouldn’t like to see her cry. I 
don’t know her as well as you and Bee and the 
rest. I always did wish I was in that class; but 
she’s one of those people you love without ex- 
actly having much to do w T ith them, don’t you 
know? Everybody loves her, I believe.” 

“Then I should think out of the everybody 
somebody might have stepped in and said she 
shouldn’t have such a hard time,” answered 
Helen a little hotly. “Somehow people don’t 
seem to do that, when trouble really comes.” 

“But she wouldn’t let them, would she? 
Was n’t she determined to pay?” 

“Yes, but they might have offered at least. I 
don’t see how she can quite break her heart for 
her father, for he certainly didn’t always do 
right; but he thought the world of her, at least, 
and now she hasn’t a soul really to care. May, I 
think it must be just distracting to feel that you ’re 
all alone. I can’t imagine, can you?” 


THE ROOM THAT DID NOT DOOIC WEED. 243 

May gave a little shudder. “I don’t want 
to imagine. But I should think it would be a 
good deal easier in the old home.” 

“That’s it exactly ! I tell you, I can’t bear 
to think of Miss Myrtle making my dresses up in 
that ugly room ! I wish I were rich enough to 
pull her right out of it this minute. There now, 
May, if you’ll just hold the reins while I run up 
with my errand. I wont be two winks gone. ’ ’ 

She ran up the stairs quickly, but her heart 
went down with a little bump as the door opened 
at her knock. 

“There, I said so !” she exclaimed to herself 
with another burst. “It’s just the dingiest, 
worst old place I ever saw. You can’t tell why, 
either. Everything ’s respectable enough. ’ ’ 

She ran on gayly though, as if everything 
were in rose color. She wanted to be a cheer- 
ful visitor of course; and if uncomplimentary 
thoughts would come popping in, she could keep 
these out of sight. 

And it was fortunate, indeed, for they would 
have made a queer mixture if they had come out 
with the rest. • 

“Oh, there you are! I’m so glad you’re at 
home. I just brought up this lining silk (the wall 
paper isn’t so bad though. It’s really quite decent. 
I wonder how that came to pass), and mamma 


244 THE GOOD-TIMES girds. 

says there ’s more if you want it, but I don’t be- 
lieve you will. (Yes, the wall paper’s almost 
pretty, quite, I guess, and it’s new; but that hor- 
rid bedstead ! It takes up so much room there’s 
no good place left to sit.) And if you’ll please 
get the buttons — if it really doesn’t trouble you 
too much (what did they ever make such bedsteads 
for? Great clumsy old maple thing with petti- 
coats, or whatever they call them, tacked all 
around); and if you want me to try it on again 
(I should think they ’d have a step-ladder to get 
in), I ’ll come to-morrow. (That’s the stiffest old 
chair I ever saw to sit in, and the covering would 
be horrid if it had n’ t faded so you can’ t see what 
it is.) And about that nuns’ veiling. (Some- 
how that bureau looks as if I should n’t want to 
put anything in the drawers. I wonder why?) 
It’s getting so late in the season, I think I wont 
have anything done. (One window’s pleasant — 
it’s really lovely out there, with that great elm 
and the broad bit of lawn. But the other one ! 
Oh, dear !) And I guess I ’d better come to-mor- 
row, hadn’t I? And—” but here Helen found 
the “mixture” was too much for her, and gave 
way before she knew it herself. 

“There, it’s too much, Myrtle!” she ex- 
claimed suddenly, with a little stamp of her foot. 
“I can’t stand it to have you in such a place. 


THE ROOM THAT DID NOT LOOK WELL. 245 

You can’t like it, I know you can’t. You’ll 
just die of homesickness, and what can anybody 
do?” 

Myrtle had been standing listening to all the 
talk about work with a smile as bright as if she 
had never talked or thought of anything else. 
Only her black dress and the black frill against 
frer pretty throat told any story that even Helen’s 
q L iick eyes could read, and her hands were busy 
w ii L h the bundle Helen had brought. But she 
threw them out hastily now, with a bitter little 
cry, and then, to Helen’s utter horror and dis- 
may, a sudden wild burst of tears. 

“Don’t! Don’t!” she said. “Don’t say 
anything about it ! It is far better not. I shall 
get along. I shall get used to it. It will seem 
like home some time, I suppose. But I feel suf- 
focated now ! I feel the room touching me, every 
moment of the day. But I did right ! I’m sure 
I did right ! It will seem like home some day, 
perhaps.” 

Helen put an arm round her in great haste 
and pulled her down into the stiff arm-chair, and 
took her own seat on one of its broad arms. 

“There, there !” she said, laying a hand soft- 
ly on Myrtle’s pretty cheek. “How perfect- 
ly horrid I am ! Do please forget what I said ! 
It’s only that I think everything ought to be 


246 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

so lovely for you. And I can’t bear to see you 
lonely, and I wish you hadn’t given everything 
away. ’ ’ 

“I don’t! I couldn’t do anything else 
They weren’t mine; and I wouldn’t have o 
of them, to be reminding me that a debt was 1 . 
paid. But it ’s almost all settled now. Ther 
scarcely a man that can say my father owes 1 
anything; and I shall do perfectly well. It ’s r * 
that I ’m not quite used to it yet. But I ,* 
be !” and she looked up with a sudden smile, 

“Oh, I hope you will! Only it’s so lc 
That’s the worst of it, after all.” 

“Yes. It’s such a strange feeling that 
there ’s no one of my own ! But never mind ; 
it will be all right.” And then, with a sudden 
little laugh, she added, “And I have got one 
luxurious rocking-chair that my grandmother 
gave me, and made me promise never to give 
away. It’s a dear old-fashioned thing, and so 
easy. ’ ’ 

“Where is it?” asked Helen eagerly. 

Myrtle laughed again. 

“Oh, it’s in the attic, waiting for a new 
cover; but there are one or two men that I want 
to pay yet, so it wont come down for many a 
long day, I ’m afraid. But it will be a dear piece 
of home when it does. ’ ’ 


the room that did not look well. 247 

Helen threw her arms round her impulsively. 

“You’re the bravest, dearest woman! I do 
wish I could help you — could make everything 
bright again. You ’d let me, if I could, just for 
love, would n’t you?” 

“Oh, yes. Any one may do anything she 
likes for me ‘for love;’ but I’ve no one to expect 
that kind of thing from now, you know. I must 
take care of myself, and I shall get along beauti- 
fully. And if I can get a little bit of love with- 
out the ‘help,’ once in a while, I shall love it a 
hundred times in return!” 

“ May, it ’s well you didn’t go up there with 
me! You would have seen her cry!” exclaim- 
ed Helen, as she took up the reins again. ‘ ‘ I 
thought I should have sunk through the floor! 
If we ever do get to Miss Marston’s I ’in going 
to tell her all about it!” 

The distance was soon passed, and the story 
poured out, and for a moment Helen was afraid 
she was going to have another season of remorse, 
Miss Beatrice looked so distressed. 

“Myrtle Paine! My pretty Myrtle!” she ex- 
claimed. “ Has she been going through all this, 
and I never dreaming of such a thing! Why, 
we were side by side three or four years at school ! 
Why has no one told me? I can’t conceive.” 

“ It almost all happened since you were sick; 


248 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

4 

that’s the reason, I suppose. Nobody wanted to 
bring in any woes, and I’m ashamed of myself 
now. I did n’t think you ’d care quite so much,” 
Helen said, in a desperately penitent tone. It 
was bad enough to see Myrtle cry, but she had 
got those beautiful eyes of Miss Beatrice’s brim- 
ming with moisture now, and that she had never 
thought to see. 

“Care!” echoed Beatrice, and then, starting 
forward, her face lighted up with a sudden look 
of delight. 

“Now I have an idea,” she said. “ I really 
did n’t quite know what 1 The Good-Times Girls ’ 
were to do this week, but I think I’ve found 
something, if they’ll only agree. I don’t want 
to be too strong in my suggestions, you know. 

1 Helping ’ was all I was asked to do, you re- 
member, and I mustn’t overstep my bounds. 
Only,” and Beatrice hesitated, and her face 
clouded a little again, “ Myrtle must let us. Do 
you think she would let us just try to bring a 
little brightness in?” 

“She said she did n’t care what any one did, 
if ’twas for love!” answered Helen eagerly. 

“Did she? Oh, then we’re all right! She 
knows I ’ve never forgotten the old days, and the 
most of you are her own class on Sunday; so 
now I -’ll just tell you what I’ve thought. We 


THE ROOM THAT DID NOT TOOK WEED. 249 

'must have a little consultation, so as to be ready 
for Saturday, you know. You and May shall 
be committee on preliminaries, for this time, at 
least. ’ ’ 

“Oh, luxury! Only, just one minute, before 
I forget. Can I bring Moppet, and Rose Weeks, 
if she ’ll come?” 


250 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

REALLY A CLUB. 

ThERE seemed to be no question about ‘ ( com- 
ing.” If there were ever to be any absentees 
from a meeting of “The Good-Times Girls” it 
wasn’t from this one. The only distress had 
been in waiting for the hour and minute actually 
to arrive. The “committee on preliminaries” 
had maintained a most provoking silence as to 
details, and a general idea that Miss Myrtle was 
to have a surprise in her room was all that the 
most vigorous pumping could extract. 

“You’ll appoint your own committees after 
this, Miss Beatrice said, and if they choose to tell, 
or you choose to require it, that will be your af- 
fair,” was all Helen would say. “And if we 
should tell, and it should get round to Myrtle too 
soon, why, where would the surprise be, O ye in- 
quisitive souls?” 

“Well, now we can know, at last!” buzzed in 
Bee, with a little flutter of relief, when the club 
found themselves complete in the room that they 
still thought a little too sacred for common things. 
“I do think there ’s no agony like suspense!” 


REALLY A CLUB. 


251 


“Don’t you mean curiosity, Bee?” came a 
little whisper from behind. She was sure it was 
Helen, but she wouldn’t turn her face to see. 

“Why, wouldn’t they tell you?” asked Bea- 
trice. “That was a little hard. Never mind, 
though, your turn will come another day,” and 
she shook a finger warningly over towards 
Helen’s side. “But do you want to be told 
now? Isn’t there business to settle for the club, 
first of all? Don’t you want some officers, or 
some committees, or some solemn ceremonies got 
through?” 

“Oh, I don’t see what we want of anybody 
but you! Or if we do, can’t we talk about it 
while we’re at work? I’m in such a hurry to 
begin!” 

“What does the club say?” asked Beatrice. 
“I’m only moderator of this meeting, you 
must n’ t forget. ’ ’ 

There was a general murmur of “Begin,” 
and Beatrice laughed. 

“Really, that’s a delightful decision to me, 
for I just happened to remember that an aftei> 
noon has only a certain amount of time in iti 
after all, and perhaps I ’ve been planning mor^ 
than any reasonable person would try to put in. 
So now, young ladies of the committee, if you’ll 
be so kind, please make amends for your past re- 


253 


the; good-time;s girls. 


serve. Bring your Tantalus cup to the lips of 
the club, and unfold all your mysteries as fast as 
you can.” 

The club had faces of very mingled expres- 
sion when Helen’s story was once more told, and 
the chorus of exclamations poured in in a cor- 
responding flood. 

“What, Miss Myrtle! I supposed she had 
everything lovely! Why didn’t we know? It ’s 
a shame! But then, of course, we never should 
have thought we could do anything. Fix it up? 
Surprise her? Wont it be splendid? Did you 
say the wall paper’s all right? Oh, what are 
we going to do? She’s as sweet as she can be. 
She has such a dainty way about things. They 
were simple enough at home, but there was a 
touch she somehow put on. I’ve been there, 
and seen. Do you suppose we can get through 
this afternoon ?” 

“I don’t feel sure as to that,” said Beatrice, 
as the last question happened to make itself 
heard just as the murmur died down. “I’ll tell 
you what I have thought of, and you can try. 
In the first place, since the bedstead isn’t pretty, 
and is clumsy and heavy and takes up exactly 
the space where it would be pleasant to sit, sup- 
pose we could take it away?” 

“Away ! And lie on the floor?” 


REALLY A CLUB. 


253 


“Not quite, but a good deal nearer to it than 
the old maple bedstead seems to allow. There ’s 
a little lounge that was arranged for some one to 
sleep near me, when I was first sick. No back to 
it, you know— just the four legs and a light little 
frame, then a hair mattress laid right on top. 
Exactly the same thing as a bed really, if you 
shut your eyes, only not quite as wide.” 

“And bed-time’s just the time for shutting 
your eyes, isn’t it?” came in Bee with a mis- 
chievous half whisper that was “a way she had.” 

“Exactly,” said Beatrice; “only in the day- 
time, when you want them wide open, it’s rather 
important to have the thing look well till night 
brings round the delusion once more. Now I 
happen to have a piece of cretonne; if the club 
thinks it pretty, and would like to cover the 
mattress with? it this afternoon, there are two 
square pillows that can be covered with the same; 
and then if it were put against the wall, with the 
two pillows standing at the back, wouldn’t it 
make a pretty little sofa by day, and then be 
tucked up as cosily as possible, with blankets and 
all the rest, at night?” 

It wasn’t necessary to take any vote from the 
club. The “Ayes” were plain enough in every 
look. 

“Then, May dear, will you just open the 


254 


the: good-times girls. 


lower drawer in the bureau over there, and bring 
the cretonne out to get its verdict passed. ’ ’ 

May crossed the room with a queer sensa- 
tion, and touched the drawer-handles with a 
tremble in her finger-tips. To think that she 
should ever pull open a lower drawer, or a top 
drawer, or any other drawer belonging to Miss 
Beatrice ! She did it though, and brought the 
material over to the club. 

“This is the right side,’’ said Helen, giving 
the end a little toss. ‘ ‘ There ! Did you ever 
see such a beauty in your lives?” 

A flood of “Ohs” rose up from every member 
but Bab. She stood with her hands in her dainty 
apron pockets without a word, but the rich color 
that was always in her cheeks had deepened and 
mounted a little as she looked on. 

“That’s the prettiest pattern I ever saw. 
What color ’s that? Is that figure a lily ?” began 
the chorus again. “You can’t tell what the 
flowers are, it’s so dainty and mixed up. No, I 
suppose it’s conventionalized. Why, don’t you 
know what color that groundwork is? It’s — 
it’s — moss-color. There’s a heliotrope at least. 
I’m sure that’s a heliotrope. No matter what 
it is though; the effect is the only thing,” etc., 
etc., and then a sudden pause. 

“So you think it will do?” asked Beatrice. 


REALLY A CLUB. 


255 


“Then the next thing is to get the measures and 
cut it. Whose genius lies particularly in the 
fitting line?” 

All eyes turned to Barbie, and her color sud- 
denly flushed over twice its space. 

“Oh, but wait a minute !” cried Helen. I’ve 
got something else for Barbie ! There’s such an 
ugly table up there. That is, the legs are pretty 
enough — spindle, you know, and old-fashioned — 
but the top is awkward and looks as if it came 
over in the flood. And I just happened to have a 
piece of momie cloth ; I was going to make a ta- 
ble-cover of it, but I don’t want it — I never shall 
want it — and I brought round some embroidery 
silks; and Barbie knows all those lovely stitches 
that run over so much ground so fast, and I 
thought perhaps — if she just would — perhaps she 
could run a little border round it, or one or two 
little things in the corners, if she liked, and it 
would help so much. Would you?” and she 
made a sudden swoop towards Bab. 

“Why, of course ! I should be delighted to,” 
answered Barbie, with the color still standing 
high, “only — perhaps Miss Marston — ” 

“Miss Marston isn’t dictatress, you know,” 
said Beatrice, with just enough of a caress on so 
much of Barbie’s hand as was outside of the 
pocket to give May half a twinge in the depths 


256 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

of her heart, and then a whole pang of remorse 
to think such a sensation could have come in. 
“You’ll make all your decisions easily among 
yourselves, I’m sure. But if Barbie is specially 
gifted in the embroidery line, isn’t there some 
one else who likes scissors just as well? I don’t 
believe you’d even need a tape-measure. See, 
it’s perfectly plain.” 

“Rose Weeks,” suggested Helen. “ She has 
a real genius for cutting out. ’ ’ 

It was Rose’s turn to blush now, and then Bee 
came buzzing in. 

“Now I think we should save time by stop- 
ping to take just one single ‘vote, and that is, that 
modesty isn’t to interfere with usefulness in this 
club. Just give me one end of that cloth, Rose, 
and I’ll hold it while you measure it off; and 
if the rest of the girls, while we’re doing it, will 
just vote that Miss Marston is dictatress, and ask 
her to give each one of us her work, I think 
everything will proceed to a charm.” 

A small forest of right hands went up without 
waiting for the question to be put in more direct 
form. 

“Do you really want me to do that?” asked 
Beatrice. “Well, then, if you think it would 
help — but first ! Is there any one who has any 
special wish?” 


REAI*L,Y A CLUB. 


257 

There was silence again, but May was evi- 
dently summoning courage to speak. 

“ Only that I thought of some bureau-mats. 
I brought the material and some worsted; I 
thought I could fringe them and darn in a pattern 
this afternoon. And a pincushion cover; it’s 
only a little work, you know. I’m sure I could 
get through. ’ ’ 

She glanced up timidly. Modesty always was 
May’s particular woe, but the smile that she got 
this time sent it flying out of sight. 

“What a very nice thought! We wont 
keep you a moment then — you or Barbie either. 
You’ll both find all your fingers can do, and 
more, I ’m afraid. Now is there any one special- 
ly at home with a sewing-machine? There are 
some pretty long seams to run up when that 
cretonne is cut, and the machine is all ready to 
help.” 

All eyes turned to Fanny, for they had all 
had their amusement long ago over Fanny’s 
fondness for that one exception in the way of 
work. It was somehow a luxurious feeling to 
sit still and make something else take all the 
trouble when a piece of sewing was to be done. 

“Does Fanny like it? Then that’s nicely 
settled; and now is there some one else who really 
dotes upon covering old chairs?” 

1 7 


Good-Times Girls. 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


258 

There was a portentous silence. Upholster- 
ing was a science and a trade. What club mem- 
ber could venture upon that? 

Faces grew rather long for a moment, but an 
eager voice came in. It was Moppet; the ques- 
tion had gone straight to her heart. 

“Oh, I do !” she exclaimed. “ If no one else 
wants to. I always do delight in getting hold of 
things like that. And if it isn’t very hard — of 
course I mean if it isn’t very hard. If it’s 
something I could do, you know.” 

A chorus of hands clapped a “bravo,” and 
Moppet looked about in surprise. Modesty didn’t 
make the stumbling-block in her way that it did 
in poor May’s. Why shouldn’t she do what she 
could do? She didn’t know. If people only 
wouldn’t vex her while she was doing it, that 
was all ! 

It was plain that whatever “The Good-Times 
Girls” might have or not have as a club, there 
was a variety of talent to draw upon, at least. 

“Here, Moppet, here’s your opportunity to 
shine. Took at this object !” and Helen darted 
across the room and drew rather a ghostly-look- 
ing chair, it is true, from its hiding-place. It 
had arms and rockers and a half-high back, and 
a genuine stylish grandmother-air altogether in 
its form and its jet black paint, and would be 


REALTY A CLUB. 


259 


luxuriously comfortable, one could see at a 
glance. But the seat and the back ! They had 
been rush-woven once, and afterwards a fine 
sort of canvas had gone in, covered with some- 
thing, nobody knows what, it had been so faded 
and spent when Helen’s scissors seised it the 
day before. 

“That ’s one thing I did that I wouldn’t tell 
you of!” she rattled on. “It’s Miss Myrtle’s, 
and her grandmother gave it to her; and she 
wanted it covered, and I stole, it out of her 
attic — Mrs. Rhodes’ attic, I mean — yesterday. 
And now what do you think you can ever make 
of it, Mop?” 

But Bee was bussing in a remark or two be- 
fore Moppet had a chance to reply. 

“So that’s what a ‘preliminary committee’ 
means, is it, Nell? Going into respectable peo- 
ple’s attics and slipping things out unawares ! 
And what is one of those respectable people go- 
ing to say, by the way, when she finds out her 
best furniture has been voted on and pushed out 
of the way?” and Bee’s tow-colored short locks 
began to tumble about a little with the excite- 
ment she was getting up. 

The other girls rather held their breath too, 
as Bee’s idea came suddenly up. They never 
had thought of that ! But it must be all 


260 the good-times girls. 

right. Miss Marston would take care of that, of 
course. 

“That’s just what a ‘preliminary’ is good 
for, please. Didn’t I bring the respected Mrs. 
Rhodes round here in my phaeton, first of all; 
and isn’t she hand and glove with the rest of 
us now, and in as great a hurry as we? Since 
Miss Beatrice and she had a little talk about 
things, I mean.” 

Helen was right. Mrs. Rhodes had been 
housekeeper in the Marston family years before, 
and had an idea that the ground Beatrice stepped 
on somehow became different from any other por- 
tion of the earth. And as she had also good 
sense and a warm heart, everything was soon 
understood. 

“I’m sure nobody can be gladder than me,” 
she had said, with a quick movement to lift her 
apron to the corner of her eye. But her apron 
had been left at home, and what could she do? 
“I’ve worried a good deal that I couldn’t fix 
better for her, but you know our things are all 
plain. We don’t belong to the highest class, 
you know; we’re middle-class people, I call us, 
and her father was n’ t much beyond. A little, 
it’s true, but he was a kind of a cousin of ours. 
But her mother was as different as the day, and 
she’s got a refinement about her that I haven’t 


REALLY A CLUB. 


26l 


got the first means to meet. But she’s going to 
stay at our house as long as I live and am in it, 
she says. She knows what good friends are 
worth, she says, and I put a new wall paper on. 
I set her to pick it out herself, and the house was 
in the aristocracy’s hands once on a time — you 
know our street’s changed — so that if a few 
friends do take a notion to step in, ’ ’ and it was 
evidently all right with Mrs. Rhodes. 

“Oh!” said Bee, retreating as the explanation 
was made, and Helen was unfolding Moppet’s 
material before her eyes. 

“Oh!” cried Moppet in her turn. “ Mom- 
ie cloth — old gold ! And upholsterer’s gimp 
to match! And is there something to pad it 
with, and a paper of furniture tacks? It’ll be 
just overcoming when it’s done. And it’s such 
smooth sailing, too. A baby could do it, if it 
had any sense. ’ ’ 

Work had fairly begun now, measuring, cut- 
ting and fitting, embroidering, padding, darning, 
and merry-making all at once, to say nothing of 
buttons to cover for knotting the cretonne to the 
mattress when it should be done. 

Beatrice leaned back in her chair with a sigh 
and a laugh at once. 

“I’ve promised to fold my hands,” she said. 
“I had to. It was the only way I could get 


262 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

leave to take what I do as my share. But oh, 
there is one thing the promise couldn’t cover, 
I’m sure! May, just reach out a hand to that 
bell, will you, dear?” 

The bell rang, and Nora opened the door. 

‘ ‘ Please ask Thorne to send up his very best 
basket of flowers,” Beatrice said, and there was 
a groan of ecstasy through he club as it came 
in, its perfume going with it in a great wave 
across the room. 

“There, now we’ll have some little ‘button- 
holes,’ at least! This club hasn’t any badges 
yet, I believe, and a flower or two must help in 
the meantime. Three — five — seven. Can any- 
body spare a spool of thread to tie these up?’ ’ 

She drew out great bending rosebud heads, 
heliotrope, geraniums, mignonette, and the club 
worked on with a whirl of excitement and min- 
gled sensations at once. To be in Miss Bea- 
trice’s room, busy as bees, and strewing things 
all over it — could that be right? To have her 
sitting with them lovelier than ever if possible 
(though she only wore the pale-blue cashmere, 
with white lace, that they had seen more than 
once before), and to feel the room full of per- 
fume, and to tuck themselves into any lovely 
corner they liked! But, after all, there was 
something else down in the depths of their hearts 


REALLY A CLUB. 263 

that was making the newest and strangest little 
stir of all. 

What would Myrtle say when she saw the 
things? Would they really bring sunlight into 
what she was trying to call home? Would she 
really be comforted out of a little of her loneli- 
ness and pain? Would she feel braver to go on 
for the love this one afternoon’s work would 
show? 

And such an easy trifle of work; and such 
luxury to do it, too! 

Was it possible that that w^as the way, even 
a small bit like the way, the Lord Christ felt 
when he found kindnesses he could do for people 
with trouble in their hearts? 

But the bouquets were ready now, and each 
“Good-Times Girl ” went on with her work with 
shy whiffs of perfume stealing up from a nodding 
group of rosebuds in her belt, or from a bunch 
of mignonette, or a cluster of mingled beauties 
somewhere else. ^ 

“But oh,” exclaimed Helen suddenly, drop- 
ping her work from her hands, ‘ ‘ what are we 
ever to do about the washstand?” 

“Is the washstand bad?” asked Bee. 

“It’s just perfectly forlorn! And it stands 
square out in sight, the whole thing, and it’s as 
much in the way as the old bedstead; it just 


264 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

spoils a comfortable place. I think washstands 
are miserable in a room anyway, unless they ’re 
unusually luxurious, as they’re not always, of 
course. ’ ’ 

“I have seen screens made to stand just a 
little in front,” ventured May. 

“ Screens are lovely!” came the chorus; “but 
then — ” and it suddenly dropped into a pause. 
Where was the frame of a screen coming from? 
and there wasn’t a mine of cretonne, or of any 
other material, to finish it with even then. 

Bee drew her little face down into a pucker 
pitiful to behold. 

“Alas, the day!” she said, and a little breeze 
of laughter ran involuntarily round the room at 
the image of despair she made, with hands folded 
over her down-dropped work and her head bent 
till her eyes just peeped out through some fallen 
locks. 

“ Is there a big closet?” asked Fanny eagerly. 

Helen gave a slight shrug. 

“Yes, pretty big, but the washstand is big 
too; and if it goes in, where ’s the space left for a 
sumptuous wardrobe to hang?” 

“I don’t want it to go in. But I remember 
something else. I remember something that my 
uncle Nat told me. You know he lived at sea 
ever so many years, and he told me how he man- 


REALLY A CLUB. 


265 


aged with the little state-room that he had, and 
for one thing he had a closet-door. ’ ’ 

“A closet-door! What a comfort that must 
have been!” echoed two or three voices as Fanny 
paused for breath. 

“Yes, but wait a minute. The closet-door 
had a shelf on the inside— just high enough — and 
another one a little below that, and the wash- 
basin and the other little things stood on the up- 
per one and the pitcher on the next; and when 
the door was shut they were in the closet, and 
when it was open there they were, all out in the 
room ready to use!” 

A moment’s silence was made use of, to take 
in the completeness of this new idea, and then 
another round of bravos expressed the enthusias- 
tic approval of the club. 

“ And why everybody with the wit of a bum- 
ble-bee couldn’t have thought of that before!” 
exclaimed Moppet, and then came in the chorus 
again. 

“Right out in the room? Of course it would 
be! Why don’t every one have a shelf on the 
closet-door! That is to say, if they’ve got a 
closet, of course! But how are we going to get 
a shelf? Who’ll put it up for us? What are 
we going to do?” 

“Sew it on to the door,” murmured Bee, 


266 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRL.S. 


with eyes meekly dropped on her strip of cre- 
tonne. 

“Bee! No buzzing in serious times,” came 
a reproachful voice. 

“What are we going to do?” and all eyes 
turned to Beatrice. 

But Beatrice wanted them to think for them- 
selves. 

“There are ways enough certainly, when 
we’ve once got such an admirable idea, but 
aren’t planning and thinking part of the ‘good 
times’? I mustn’t cheat you out of your rights, 
you know.” 

Silence fell again. Rose was burning with an 
idea; she knew which one of the “Blue-Badge 
Boys” was as much at home with carpenter’s 
tools as they were with needles and thread, but 
it would never do to suggest that! 

Helen spoke at last. 

“Wouldn’t the door be a little heavy, with 
the pitcher and all? Wouldn’t one shelf do, 
just for the basin and things, and let the pitcher 
stand inside on the floor? If it would, I ’ve got a 
little pair of iron brackets I was going to use, but 
I’da great deal rather they ’d go here.” 

“Good!” came the chorus again, and no 
hopeless difficulty remained but the shelf. 

“There’s that money-box of the club’s,” 


REALLY A CLUB. 


267 


murmured Bee again, with eyes meeker than be- 
fore. “If the club don’t mind drawing funds!” 

Bee! What was ever to be done with her! 
There was Miss Beatrice looking an inquiry about 
their bank! 

“Do n’t mind her, Miss Beatrice! She ’s past 
control. It ’s a ridiculous little box with no bot- 
tom she ’s talking about. But we shall have to 
have one with a bottom in it, sha’ n’t we, if 
we’re really going on? What a pity it isn’t 
ready now!” said Fanny, blushing with the feel- 
ing that as originator of the club she was respon- 
sible for Bee, boxes, and all the rest. 

“Well, I would gently suggest,” scrambled 
in another voice, from a corner behind a pile of 
cloth, “that three or four days’ notice might 
possibly raise funds enough from among the com- 
pany, as it is, to provide one small pine shelf 
painted white. ’ ’ 

“Who’s the committee on funds?” was the 
next question, and there was another turning of 
eyes towards Miss Beatrice’s chair. 

“I suspect you’ll find you need a treasurer 
before long,” Beatrice said; “but this time I 
have a feeling that we must manage quite deli- 
cately in what we do. I think it will seem 
pleasanter to Miss Myrtle if we can tell her 
we ’re only bringing her a little house-warming 


263 tiik good-times girls. 

out of things we can spare as well as not, only 
offering little love-tokens out of our own rooms. 
You understand?” 

Yes, indeed, they understood. What blunder- 
ing little things they were! 

“Now, see what you think of this. Mr. 
Rhodes is very good with tools, and he’ll be de- 
lighted if you’ll let him have a little share. I 
think if you’ll let him have the brackets and 
the idea, he ’ll put them both just where they ’re 
wanted, shelf and all. ’ ’ 

So that was settled, and Fanny disappeared 
into another room, to the sewing-machine, and 
Moppet followed, chair and all, to take the sound 
of her hammering out of the way. She was 
ready for her furniture tacks now, and of course 
such a racket as that would n’t do. 

The room grew still after they left. Helen 
caught sight of Beatrice’s head resting a moment 
on her cushions with half-closed eyes, and she 
made a quick sign of silence to the rest. 

“We shall tire her to dea'th,” she whispered 
to Bee. “I do n’t believe we ought to stay much 
longer, at the best.” 


THE CEUB’S FIRST “ GOOD TIME.” 269 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE CEUB’S FIRST “GOOD TIME.” 

On flew the busy fingers, and thoughts still 
busier whirled through the workers’ heads. 

Would Miss Myrtle be pleased? Would she 
take it as a love-token? How were they going 
to arrange the surprise? It must be a surprise, of 
course. Could they get through this afternoon, 
and when would it all be ready, if they could not ? 

And Fanny, as the whir of the sewing-ma- 
chine ran the long seams off in a flash, was 
having a few little private reflections of her own. 

She really felt in a hurry. She didn’t know 
when she had felt in a hurry before. She had 
always thought it so disagreeable to make every 
moment do what it could. But it certainly was 
delightful to-day. What could it mean? Was 
it because she was working for somebody else? 
She had never tried that before; somehow Lou 
had always been the one to do that. And then — 
was it possible? — could it be just barely possible 
that Some One who used to be so busy for us no- 
ticed what they were doing, and was pleased ? 

Did n’t he say something about “cups of cold 


2/0 


the: good-times girls. 


water” once? But then, those were “for his 
sake.” She hadn’t thought of doing anything 
in that way, but she’d like to — she was sure 
they all would — if they could think he would 
care. And then, there was something else be- 
sides that he said. Didn’t he say any little 
thing done for some one he loved was done really 
for him? 

The seams were all done now, and with the 
two or three pairs of hands waiting, it wouldn’t 
take long for that mattress to transform itself 
into a sofa-cushion gorgeous to behold. Every- 
thing seemed to fly. The pillows were covered 
already; Barbie’s embroidery silks were gleam- 
ing out in a most effective pattern along the 
edge of the table-cloth, and the bureau-mats 
were almost ready to give way to the pincushion 
cover, and call that department done. 

“But the table-cover wont be finished! Will 
it, Barbie? It can’t!” exclaimed Helen, looking 
up from her sofa-cushion with a start. “It’s no 
use thinking of putting anything else in the 
room till it is, that table’s so hatefully bad!” 

Beatrice glanced at Barbie and her work. 

“The shelf can’t be done this afternoon, at 
any rate,” she said. “Suppose you allow Bar- 
bie two or three days to finish at her leisure, 
while any one you may choose takes the same 


THE CLUB’S FIRST “GOOD TIME.” 2JI 

time to enlist Mr. Rhodes and get his piece of 
handiwork done. ’ ’ 

“‘Husband.’ That’s what she always calls 
him!” came in audacious Bee. 

“Well, ‘husband,’ then. And I think the 
delay may prove a blessing in disguise, for I im- 
agine there ’ll be half a dozen brilliant ideas pop- 
ping into one head and another before the time is 
gone. And if there are, be sure to come and tell 
them to me. If the club isn’t to meet again for 
a week, I shall want some little bits of entertain- 
ment in all that time.” 

“And — but,” began somebody, “who is go- 
ing to see to it all? Aren’t you, Miss Beatrice?” 

“I? I wouldn’t take the very titbit of 
pleasure away from you for the world. And be- 
sides, you know, I’m only a tiresome old lady, 
fast to her chair.” 

That was true, the chair part of it, and the 
club felt a twinge as it looked at her sitting 
there. What were those doctors good for? Oh 
dear! 

But what were they to do? 

“ I think a committee of one or two, at least, 
will have to give the magic touch to the room ; 
or all of you might go and enjoy it together — 
why not? Only, if you should happen to know 
of anybody so luxurious as to possess a phaeton, 


2 72 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


and who could tempt Miss Myrtle out for a drive 
while the magicians are at work, I should think 
it would do very well. ’ ’ 

Do ! It would be perfect! Would Helen be 
ready? Of course she would! That was plain 
enough from her face. 

“But I think Fanny should be the committee, 
if there is any, for the whole thing!” she broke 
in suddenly. “She ought to be head of ‘The 
Good-Times Girls,’ next to Miss Marston, for it 
was all her idea at the first; and if she’ll take 
this business in charge I ’m sure we ’ll all follow, 
if there ’s anything she wants us to do.” 

It was a general vote; it didn’t take an in- 
stant to show that, and Fanny felt her cheeks 
crimson with a very charming kind of surprise. 
It was pleasant to have done something, and to 
have something still more to do! 

“Then,” said Beatrice, “when Barbie is 
ready and the shelf is ready, you’re all provided 
for. Only be sure to let me know just how 
everything goes. And there comes — why, Mop- 
pet, child, Nora can help you with that!” 

But Moppet wanted no help. She was tug- 
ging and pushing the grandmother chair before 
her like a great golden shield, and her face, burn- 
ing with excitement and with the bending over 
her tacks, just rose into sight over the top. 


THE CRUB’S FIRST “ GOOD TIME.” 273 

That was the moment for applause greater 
than any that had come before. 

u Is that the old chair? Who’d ever recog- 
nize it! Isn’t there a medal somewhere about 
for Mop? It’s simply gorgeous! No, it’s a 
beauty! There’s style about that!” etc., etc., 
until Helen shook her finger again. This club 
couldn’t be coming to Miss Marston’s room if 
they made too much noise! 

The sofa was almost done now; only a few 
stitches and then the buttons to tack in. Helen 
beckoned Moppet to join. She was getting un- 
easy about this meeting holding on so long. It 
might be too much for an invalid if they did n’ t 
take care. 

But how were those buttons and those deep 
dents ever going in ? 

“Why, a sail-needle, of course! Don’t you 
know?” asked the practical Moppet, looking 
about as if she thought sail-needles ought to be 
springing up out of the floor. 

The club held its breath. 

“Or an upholsterer’s needle then,” said Mop- 
pet, flushing a little as she observed the look. 
“ Did nobody ever tack a mattress before?” 

“Nora has, dear,” said Beatrice quickly. 
“ She shall give you one; but I ’m afraid the rest 
of us have never done such deft little pieces of 
18 


Good-Times Girls. 


274 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

work as you. We shall know better another 
time.” 

The needle was brought, the buttons were 
tacked in, the last stitch was already put in the 
facing, and the lounge, no longer a nurse’s cot, 
but a stylish little sofa for the daytime and cosey 
bed for the night, stood with its two square pil- 
lows in state against the wall. 

U I sha’n’t rest till I have one just like it. 
It’s a beauty! And see how well the old gold 
of the chair looks beside it ! I do think it’s the 
nicest idea,” went on the club, in the height 
of satisfaction and glee; but Helen was already 
gathering up pieces and scraps. 

“We must go though,” she said, in a very 
decided tone. “If we’re all to be running in 
to Miss Beatrice with new notions, any time 
through the week, we had better leave her to 
rest for this time, I think. ’ ’ 

Beatrice hesitated, and then suddenly smiled. 

“She’s remorseless, isn’t she?” she said. 
“Does she often look as determined as that? 
I ’ve half a dozen things I want to say to you, at 
least, but I ’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you’ll 
be thinking over your own fancies and plans, and 
all that, we’ll have a thorough good talk and 
settle everything the next time you come. I’m 
getting a little stronger every day, you know, 


THE CEUB’S FIRST “GOOD TIME.” 275 

and we can do great things by that time, per- 
haps. ’ ’ 9 

“Oh dear!” whispered Helen, as the club 
filed out at the gate; “ there comes Mr. Marston ! 
It must be horridly late. I did hope we should 
have got out of the way before he got sight of 
us. He’ll think we’ve been too many and too 
much for Miss Beatrice, I know !” 

Marston of the Mills touched his hat gracious- 
ly to the party as he turned into the carriage- 
drive with the horse he could hardly bear to ride 
after yet; but his thoughts were a good deal as 
Helen had guessed them at the same time. 

“What, are these girls only going now?” 
he said. “Trice told me they were coming at 
two o’clock. It’s all very well for the doctor to 
order ‘diversion,’ but that ’s taking it in doses to 
kill or cure, I should say. She’ll be completely 
used up.” 

He waited rather restlessly in the library for 
half an hour, instead of going up to speak to her 
at once as his custom was. She should have 
quiet for that time at least. 

But when he opened her door at last, he found 
he need have given himself no anxiety. The 
little rest had been very good, it is true, but he 
almost started at the joyous brightness on Bea- 
trice’s face. What had happened to the girl? 


276 the good-times girls. 

She was going to get well after all, he believed. 
What did those doctors know about it? They 
were all a set of humbugs together. 

Beatrice held out her hand as he came in, 
with a cheerful greeting. 

“O papa, I’m so ashamed and so happy at 
once. You know that wilful, naughty time I had 
at first — of feeling that I couldn’t be put aside, 
that I must be among the workers, that I could n’t 
give up having something to do. And now when 
I had given it up, see what a lovely thing has 
come to me. If I can have these girls every 
week — if they can love me and trust me, and let 
me show them, even if ever so slowly, what joy it 
is to be working as the Lord Jesus did, to give 
comfort to troubled hearts; and if I could do 
even more than that, if I could show them by- 
and-by what double joy it is to do it for his dear 
sake — papa, it almost frightens me to see what 
a happy thing I have. Do you think he will 
really let me do it all, with his help?” 

Marston of the Mills sat silent, looking into 
Beatrice’s face. Was this girl shut up in her sick- 
room, perhaps for years, thinking herself rich and 
happy because a piece of work for the Master 
was put into her hand? And he — out among 
crowds of people from morning till night, full of 
strength, health, and prosperity,- and with money 


THE CRUB’S FIRST “ GOOD TIME.” 277 

piling up at his command — what was he doing? 
Was he even wishing for anything to do? 

“Papa, why don’t you speak? Was ever 
any one happier than I ?’ ’ 

He turned and looked at her again; was she 
more beautiful than ever, or was it — but what 
difference did it make? 

“No one should be happier if the matter were 
in my hands,” he said. “But I don’t see that 
it’s very much in my control just now.” 

“Papa! Aren’t you giving me everything 
that this world can hold ! And what would the 
whole world be to me without you?” 

Miss Lou Stacy sat at her desk busy with 
some papers when Fanny came in. She lifted 
her eyes a moment and then dropped them quiet- 
ly again. 

“Did you have a good time?” she asked, but 
in a tone as if the afternoon had been only an or- 
dinary affair. She did n’t think best to show too 
much interest in this remarkable stir to which 
Fanny seemed rousing up. 

“I never had such a good time in all my 
life!” was the reply, and Miss Stacy lifted an- 
other quick glance. Was this actually Fanny, 
speaking in such a bustling, enthusiastic tone as 
that? 

“Didn’t you?” she asked, running her finger 


278 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

down a column of figures, as if that were the 
important thing after all. ‘ ‘ How did that hap- 
pen? Was it being in Miss Mars ton’s room so 
long ?” 

“Miss Marston’s room ! kou, you know I’ve 
been there twenty times before! Yes, that was 
part of it though. Of course it was. But if you 
knew what a lovely thing we had to do !” 


PLANNING. 


279 


CHAPTER XXV. 
planning. 

“Miss Marston’s room” evidently had not 
seen the last of “The Good-Times Girls,” even 
for the following- week, and Nora began to think 
she could recognize the peculiar ring of the door- 
bell that announced a member of the club. 

“There’s a pleased sound, and a sound as if 
they were in a hurry about something too, ’ ’ she 
said, as she went back after letting the third or 
fourth one in. They all started, however, from 
Bee’s; that seemed to have been a sort of head- 
quarters from the day Fanny appeared there to 
pour off the first enthusiasm of her idea. On 
Monday morning after the famous meeting, Rose 
Weeks came hurrying in. Moppet was there 
already. Barbie w r as putting in a “corner” 
to the table-spread and Bee whirling about in all 
1 quarters of the room, without seeming to know 
which it happened to be. 

“Girls,” Rose began, in a pell-mell way, 
quite out of her usual style, “I’ve got an idea! 
Now do n’t say ‘Catch it,’ for I do have one once 
in a w T hile ; only Saturday when Miss Marston 
said we should think up something new — some 


280 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRINS. 

after-thoughts and improvements, you know — I 
did n’ t believe I could squeeze out a single thing. 
But I did before I ever went to sleep last night. 
It popped right into my head !” 

“You thought an after- thought, did you, 
Rose? How did it feel?” 

Bee had fluttered suddenly in front of her, and 
stood with folded hands and rolled-up eyes, look- 
ing the humble inquirer into her face. 

That would do very well with Rose, they all 
knew. With Moppet it wouldn’t have been 
quite safe to venture a quiz ; it might happen 
across her in the right way, and it might not; but 
there was never any fear with Rose. 

“It felt delightfully, Miss Hathaway! Now 
see if you don’t think it might. I thought of 
some flowers. A room don’t look really like 
home without a flower, of course, and — everybody 
knows they’re plenty enough ; but it’s something 
to put them in, that’s the thing. And do you 
suppose — you know I don’t know her as well as 
the rest of you, but I was in the class one Sun- 
day, and I ’ ve seen her lots of times — do you sup- 
pose she would think it was taking a liberty if I 
were to fill a little hanging-shell with them and 
put it somewhere in the room? She needn’t 
even guess who hung it there, if she didn’t just 
happen to ask. ’ ’ 


PLANNING. 


28l 

A glance of intelligence flashed involuntarily 
round the room, but was as quickly suppressed. 
Rose was a general favorite in her ‘ ‘ set, ’ ’ with a 
reputation for unfailing sweet temper, and an 
amiable feeling towards all the world; but “giving 
away” certainly wasn’t her forte. She liked to 
see every one else comfortable and happy, if pos- 
sible, but her own affairs had a way of looking 
very important, and whatever was once her own 
the girls were accustomed to see kept so with a 
pretty careful hold. And this particular shell, a 
choice little thing from the Mediterranean, and 
hung by most effective silver chains, they knew to 
have been one of her specially cherished Christ- 
mas gifts and a treasured ornament of her room. 

“Is that Rosie Weeks? Positively the first 
time!” was the whisper in more than one secret 
corner of her listeners’ thoughts; but they didn’t 
meddle with the enthusiastic answer poured out: 

‘ ‘ Would she think it taking a liberty ? Would 
you think it a liberty if one or two of us wanted 
to follow on and borrow a little bit of that idea? 
It ’s the brightest one any of us have had! I ’ve 
got a tallish vase that would be exactly the thing 
in the middle of that table-cloth of Bab’s. And 
I ’ve got a pot of primroses that just goes on a 
window-sill. It wont be stealing your thunder, 
will it, Rose?” 


282 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

There was a good deal of bobbing in and out 
at Miss Marston’s after this, and a good deal of 
assurance wanted that the club would be go- 
ing too far for delicacy if they were to do every- 
thing that they happened to think of that was 
“nice.” 

‘ ‘ Why, yes, I think I should hesitate very 
much as to that,” laughed Beatrice. “I think a 
rather quiet beginning will be best; and if that 
all goes happily, as I ’m sure it will, additions 
can be slipped in by-and-by. But flowers can al- 
ways be given, you know — a whole room-full, I 
suppose, if you like — and something to put them 
in is rather necessary, it must be confessed. No, 
I don’t think we’re going too far. There’ll be 
nothing but love-tokens certainly, and Miss Myr- 
tle will take them as such, I’m sure. And if 
she does, and really makes that room home for 
years, as Mrs. Rhodes promises she will, I don’t 
think many young clubs have such a chance! 
To make a whole home bright and sweet, and 
only the work for one little ‘ surprise-party ’ to do 
it; it doesn’t come every day, does it, maidens 
fair?” 

“No, and it wont come every day either, 
girls!” Helen announced in very positive tones, 
when three or four of them got together again. 
In fact a meeting had been called for that after- 


PLANNING. 


283 

noon, and was rapidly coming together in Bee’s 
room. Barbie’s work was just getting to the last 
stitches, the patent, or patentable, shelf for the 
closet-door was drying its coat of paint, and 
there was no reason why to-morrow shouldn’t 
see everything done. 

“Wont it? Well, then, every other day!” 
pleaded Bee. 

“No, I don’t believe ’twill be every tenth or 
twentieth! How should it? It can’t, of course. 
Life isn’t made up of dreams, young ladies of 
the club, and I ’ll tell you what I ’ve been think- 
ing about this thing (only I do wish that old 
bureau wasn’t so forlorn). So long as we can 
meet at Miss Marston’s, that ’s perfectly lovely, of 
course, and it’s romance enough. We ought to 
be satisfied with that, for the part that’s to be 
just luxurious in itself, and then afterwards, if our 
‘ good times ’ are really to be made out of doing 
good, why should we care just what shape the 
particular good is in ?” 

A low murmur that wasn’t distinctly trans- 
latable greeted this flight, and Bee ran over to 
Helen with a fan. 

“Thank you for bearing us so aloft, but 
aren’t you. tired, dear? And besides, I don’t 
see why Miss Marston may not find just as lovely 
things as this for us many a time.” 


284 the good-times girds. ' 

“Because life isn’t made up of them,” per- 
sisted Helen stoutly. “It’s made up of com- 
monplace things a great deal more, and we 
shall have to be contented with our share of 
them.” 

1 1 Must we ?’ ’ responded Bee meekly. ‘ 1 Well, 
then ! Only do n’t say sewing for orphan-asylum 
children!” 

“I don’t see why not, if the poor orphans 
happen to want clothes. Ask Barbie there.” 

All eyes turned to Barbie, and her color flush- 
ed up once more. 

“An answer! An answer!” was the demand, 
and Barbie was forced to speak. 

“I suppose it’s the pleasure of giving pleas- 
ure that we really want,” she said. 

The club hesitated. That was it, of course. 
What would become of the “good times” about 
Myrtle’s room if they should find she didn’t care 
for it or like it, after all ? And yet, if they had 
been making petticoats for a cross old woman in- 
stead — that would be different now, and who 
could call it anything else? 

“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Moppet 
suddenly, hurried by Fanny’s disconcerted face. 
“I do n’ t see why we need worry about under- 
standing things. We shall find it all out as we 
go along, and whatever we really try we ’re sure 


PLANNING. 


285 

to know. And we do know that we want Fanny 
to tell us what to do to-morrow, and is n’ 1 that 
enough for just now?” 

A fresh murmur declared that it was, and 
Fanny was the next oracle for an appeal. She 
felt a little timid when the moment really came 
for finding herself an authority; but, after all, 
somebody must decide. 

“Well, then, I’ve thought it over, and I 
don’t see why, if Helen can get Miss Myrtle out 
to drive, we can’t all go up and just work to- 
gether till we get the room to rights; there ’ll be 
plenty to do, I think we shall find, when the real 
minute conies. At any rate we’d all like to see 
how things look. So if Helen will go this after- 
noon and get Miss Myrtle to promise for the 
drive, and then tell ‘husband,’ so that he’ll be 
ready for his part, why couldn’t we meet there 
as soon as Helen drives off, and begin? We can 
get all through and have one good look, and then 
take ourselves half a mile away, before she gets 
back, if she’ll give us one hour fair.” 

The first decision of their first committee 
brought great acclamation from the club. 

“Of course we can! I did n’t know you were 
such a businesswoman, Fan! We did n’t think 
you’d let us all in! Only, if we could know 
to-day the hour when Lady Helen and her 


286 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

chariot would start off, we should n’t all be flying 
about to find out to-morrow.” 

“Five o’clock in the afternoon,” said Helen. 
“It’s too hot in the middle of the day. Ask 
your committee, though. ’ ’ 

“O Nell!” said Fanny, dignity quite forgot- 
ten and entreaty coming up, ‘ ‘ we never can wait 
all day! Can’t you say nine o’clock, when 
the morning’s fresh? That’ll give her the 
whole day to enjoy things, too, instead of show- 
ing them to her when she ’s all tired out.” 

“Well, I’ll try, but I’m afraid she’ll never 
go luxuriating about the country with her day’s 
work waiting to be done. I ’ll coax her though, 
and if it has to be five I ’ll let you know. If you 
don’t hear from me call it nine o’clock, sharp. 
I don’t see why May LJewellyn hasn’t been 
here, though. Some one will have to find her 
and let her know if she doesn’t appear.” 

But there was a step on the stairs, and she did 
appear as the words passed Helen’s lips, with a 
piece of news unmistakably shining in her face. 

“I couldn’t be a minute sooner,” she ex- 
claimed. “I wanted to see Miss Beatrice first, 
and see what she thought, and I’ve come right 
from there. Mamma has only just come home — 
she’s been away for a week and never knew a 
word about our meeting — and she ’s so delighted 


PLANNING. 


287 

about it, and what do you think she says ? She 
bought something at Miss Myrtle’s auction, and 
she ’s going to give it to us to give back!” 

There was a hush, and then a sudden out- 
break of, “What was it? Do tell us, quick!” 

“It’s a bureau, an old-fashioned mahogany 
bureau, that’s been in the family ever so long. 
Brass handles, you know, and all that, and mam- 
ma says anybody might think it a treasure. But 
she never knew a thing about it — about Miss 
Myrtle’s trouble; she thought she was going to 
move away or something, and she says she 
would n’t keep it for anything. She says she has 
made it right over to us, and we can do what we 
like with it; it is ours.” 

“Oh, that is too good! What did Miss Bea- 
trice say?” was the general cry. 

“She said nothing could be nicer; the chair 
and the bureau together would be a great piece 
of the old home, and the other little doings 
would be the beginning of a new one amid them. 
And she ’s going to send Thorne to bring it, at 
whatever hour Helen says, and then we’re all 
right! And now, if that’s all settled, I have to 
run down to Mam’selle’s. Isn’t there some one 
among you that will go that way?” 

“I’ll drive you,” said Helen. “I’m just 
ready, and Dainty’s standing at the door.” 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


288 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

VIODET. 

The Bon Marche was looking its freshest and 
brightest that morning, with its windows polished 
and clear, and a display of fresh laces and flow- 
ers, arranged with that skilful touch of Mam’- 
selle’s. No one but she could have put just those 
things into a window with that bewitching effect, 
and Mam’selle herself was at her daintiest, with 
a bit of fresh ruffling at her pretty throat and 
wrists, and her eyes shining with the new light 
every one had learned to expect in them since 
Violet came. 

Violet was the important little bit of exist- 
ence in the Bon Marche now; the ribbons and 
laces were valuable in Mam’selle’s eyes just so 
far as the tiny profits on them were going to 
make everything cosey and safe in the rooms be- 
hind the curtain for Violet. 

“And every year she will need a little more,” 
Mam’selle said with her brightest smile. “The 
dresses must be a little larger, and there will be 
so many things to learn, and she will be quicker 
and quicker to feel whether all is sunshiny and 


VIOLET. 


289 

pleasant in the rooms. For me, it will be alto- 
gether sunshine, with her face to look at and 
her voice to hear, and above all, with her arms 
to come around my neck; but for her I must be a 
good business woman to bring everything right 
for her. The Bon Marche must win all the cus- 
tomers possible to itself; and it must be sure that 
they come again. ’ ’ 

And Violet herself was really helping to that 
quite unconsciously to Mam’selle. Mam’selle 
had had a little seat put up for her, between the 
end of the counter and the window, where she 
could sit perched and get a view of everything. 
Not that she sat still anywhere very long at a 
time, but the seat, when she was in it, gave her 
a view of the street, the passers-by, the customers 
inside, Mam’selle, the counter, and most wonder- 
ful of all, the window, which was like a fairy 
treasure-house to Violet’s eyes. And while she 
saw the passers, the passers also saw her; and 
many dropped in and bought a bit of something 
they would not have thought of that day, for 
the sake of a closer look at those clear, wonder- 
ing eyes and that toss of golden hair; and perhaps 
the next time they passed they slipped in again, 
just to see if “that child ” was as full of her rip- 
pling laughter as she had been the other day. 

“Yes, there’s Violet,” said Helen, as she 
19 


Good-Times Girls. 


290 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

drew Dainty’s rein before the door. “She’s on 
her perch again. Isn’t she the prettiest thing 
the sun ever shone upon? I ’m going to get one 
good hug. She ’s one of the few children that I 
can’t help giving a snatch. It half makes 
Mam’ selle jealous, I believe, but I just love those 
little arms round my neck. She ’s such a loving 
little scrap; she always has something to spare 
if you once show her you care for it yourself. ’ ’ 

Mam’ selle did not seem jealous in the least, 
but looked on, while Helen got her “snatch,” 
with a beaming face. 

“Ah, you see how sweet it is! But if you 
had it all the time and the dearest of it, as I do ! 
You may have such a gift some day to come, but 
not yet. It is only I who am so rich and happy 
now. A//, que c' est une mervcille. ’ ’ 

“Yes, she ’ s too lovely for anything. Could n’ t 
you lend her to me a little while, Mam’ selle?” 

Mam’ selle’ s face suddenly fell, and her shoul- 
ders lifted with an expressive shrug. 

“Impossible! The Bon March£ would be 
darkness if I were capable of that !” 

Helen laughed and seated Violet daintily on 
her stool again. 

“Well, then, I wont ask it to-day, and May 
wants something else that you can spare better, I 
believe.” 


VIOLET. 


291 


Mam’selle’s shoulders and eyebrows went in- 
stantly into different outline, but they asked May 
what she would have as distinctly and as prettily 
as any words could have done. 

“Oh, yes, the straw-colored silk. The same 
piece that I cut from the other day? It is still 
here. I shall give it to you at once,” and the 
box was speedily produced. 

“This is going into costumes?” she asked as 
her scissors ran through the silk. “No? You 
have given them up? You are not, then, to 
have your £ good times ’ ?’ ’ 

“Oh, yes, Mam’selle! Indeed we are! And 
better than any of all those worn-out things we 
talked of, a hundred times! Tableaux are so 
threadbare, you know.” 

Mam’selle’s eyebrows lifted into a question 
again. She did not know. She did not quite 
see how that should be. The costumes could be 
most original, and elaborate too, if desired. 

“Yes, but then it’s the same old story, after 
all. We ’ ve got something entirely new and just 
charming. We’ll tell you all about it some day 
when we can stop. We don’t know exactly yet 
what we shall always do — quite a variety, I 
think — but I’m sure we shall be coming here 
for materials every now and then.” 

“Well, come always. You are always wel- 


292 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

come,” and Mam’selle handed the parcel over 
the counter with her own pretty grace. 

She watched her customers out of the door, 
and then turned to the little stool. It was time 
for lunch now; they would go into the other 
room, and she should have Violet all to herself. 

“Come, then,” she said, and she gathered 
the child into her arms and held her a moment, 
as if she were a feast. 

“Ah, the good God is so very good!” she 
said softly over the golden head. “Did you 
know it, Violet? No, you cannot yet. You 
could not understand. But you must hear; you 
must hear it all some day! I thought I was so 
desolate, and he has made it all like a mistake. 
First, he came so close by himself, and then he 
showed me how I have still Heloise, and now he 
has given me also you! And my heart over-r- 
runs P ’ 

“May,” said Helen, as they reseated them- 
selves in the phaeton and she took up Dainty’s 
reins, “ it ’s too lovely to go in. Shall we take a 
little turn? Somewhere out where we can smell 
the woods; the Landry Road or any other that 
you like.” 

“Oh, I like the Landry Road,” said May 
eagerly. She had not been there for many a 
day, and she would like to see where the ferns 


VIOLET. 293 

were gathered for that dear day in the church so 
little while, and yet so long, ago. 

“The Landry Road it shall be then. We may 
not get much beyond the corner where the little 
old house with the rose-vines stands — the one 
just at the turn, you know, with the queer old 
porch — for it’s getting a little bit latish, I’m 
afraid. But we ’ll go a little beyond if we can.” 

Dainty made his way over the ground with 
his own steady, tugging pace, and the dis- 
tance was rapidly passed, May’s hope of getting 
fairly to the woods rising at every step. She 
didn’t quite understand what made Helen so si- 
lent though. It wasn’t at all like her to drive 
on and never say a word. 

“A penny for your thoughts,” she laughed at 
last. “No, I could guess them, perhaps, and 
that would be cheaper yet. To-morrow and Miss 
Myrtle?” 

Helen started, looked at May suddenly, and 
laughed in her turn. 

“I was dreaming, I believe. Your voice 
seemed to wake me up, at least. Miss Myrtle? 
No; it was what I was saying to the girls this 
morning, and they wouldn’t seem to think I 
meant anything — but I did — it worries me some- 
how still. Oh, you had n’ t come in, I remember 
now; but, you see, we’ve started out with such a 


294 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

wonderfully good time for a club that I can’ t bear 
to think of our having any come-down, and yet I 
don’t see how it is to be helped. You see, a set 
of girls couldn’t have such a lovely chance com- 
ing to them once in a thousand times as we ’ ve 
had this week. I suppose we can find some good 
to do for somebody if we try; but if it happens to 
be just prosing along at something, I don’t know 
how it will seem. And then there ’s another thing 
besides: it was all very well to let Miss Beatrice 
furnish all that material for once, if she chose, 
but we can’t expect her to, or let her, every time, 
and where’s it all coming from? We shall 
want materials for whatever we undertake to do, 
of course.” 

“Well, suppose we do. Miss Beatrice said 
we ’d ‘ talk over things ’ the next time. I guess 
that meant ‘committees of ways and means,’ 
do n’ t you ? But as for the ‘ prosing along, ’ I do n’ t 
see why it ever need come to that, because — ’ ’ 

May hesitated. 

“Because what?” asked Helen. “Now I 
should just like to know.” 

“Because — it isn’t my idea, of course, but 
Miss Beatrice talks to me so much about it all — I 
thought nothing could seem prosy if we are do- 
ing it for the dear Christ’s sake. That puts joy 
and beauty into everything; do n’t you think so?” 


VIOLET. 


295 


Helen turned towards her with a long, slow 
look that made poor May feel the color mounting 
into her cheeks. 

“Don’t / think it does? Do you f Do you 
do things in that way? I didn’t know any 
of us but Barbie did that. Tell me about it, 
May.” 

May’s cheeks were crimson now. Somehow 
she couldn’t help saying what she had, but she 
had had no idea of getting any farther than that. 

“Oh, I don’t do anything!” she said hur- 
riedly. “I should love to, of course, if I knew 
as much about it all as Miss Beatrice — if I were 
like her! Only, sometimes it does seem as if I 
got a little touch of the joy, and it ’s sweeter than 
anything else in this world !” 

“Now, May, will you tell me what you mean 
by that? I hear people talk in that sort of way 
(I didn’t know you would, though), and I never 
can get it explained. ’ ’ 

Poor May ! She was getting deeper and deep- 
er! She never had been in the way of “wearing 
her heart on her sleeve, ’ ’ and it was a little hard 
to be telling Helen what was down in the depths 
of it ! 

And yet why should it be ? She did n’ t care to 
say much of what she felt for Miss Beatrice, and 
yet if any one asked her, she would rather tell a 


29O THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

thousand times than have them think it was less 
than it was. And why should n’t she speak just 
as simply and as loyally for the Lord Christ? 

‘ ‘ I would tell you if I could, Helen, ’ ’ she said 
quietly; “but I don’t think it’s always easy to 
explain what ’s just happiness, do you? We had 
such a lovely time Saturday, for instance, and we 
expect to have to-morrow again, but I couldn’t 
explain it very well. It was just being with 
people and doing for people that we loved, that 
was all.” 

“ But you don’t mean to say that — that — be- 
ing religious is like that V ’ 

May hesitated. 

“Why don’t you ask Miss Beatrice instead 
of me? It’s such a little tiny bit that I know.” 

“Because I want to get at just that tiny bit. 
It’s just what a girl knows that I want.” 

“Well, then, it’s only that the Lord Christ’s 
love is so wonderful, and that it’s so wonderful 
to have him want ours; it can’t help making a 
sort of joy when we think of it, you know. And 
if we find something to do now and then that 
we think will really be a pleasure to him back 
again, why, of course, you can’t help under- 
standing how it would seem. ’ ’ 

Helen touched Dainty’s back with little taps 
of her whip. 


VIOLET. 297 

“But if you do n’t love liim!” she said slowly 
at last. 

A troubled look came over May’s face. 

“I don’t see — I don’t exactly see how any 
one can help it,” she said. 

“But suppose you don't f” persisted Helen. 
“ Suppose you wish you did, but you just don’t — 
not particularly, I mean — what are you going to 
do? You can’t make yourself feel this way or 
that; you can’t make yourself love any one, of 
course. ’ ’ 

May’s troubled look changed to a wondering 
one now. 

“Why, that’s the very reason,” she said. 

“The reason of what?” 

“The reason why he helps us. If we could do 
all we wanted to for ourselves there would be no 
need of his doing so much ; of his being always 
busy, stooping, and coming, and reaching out so 
many gifts. He would have more rest, but not 
so much pleasure, I suppose. ’ ’ 

“Now, May, do you really believe all that? 
Are you sure he helps us so much? that he’s 
always ready? that it ’s really a delight to him — 
to one like him — when he can?” 

“Why, what else did he live for and die for, 
but to have things so that he could, and that we 
should want him to ? What does he stand at the 


29S THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

door and knock for, if lie doesn’t just want us to 
open and let him in ? Of course he comes in. Of 
course he brings us all that dear sweet life we 
never could get for ourselves. He loves to; it’s 
what he’s ‘ever living’ for; and he says, when 
he has it all perfect, he’s going to ‘present us 
unto himself.’ But I wish you ’d ask Miss Bea- 
trice. I can’t tell you at all.” 

They went on silently a few minutes, and then 
Helen looked slowly into May’s face. 

“I guess j'ou’ve told me, May. If I can’t 
understand it now, it isn’t your fault at least.” 


THE RITTRE RED FRAG. 


299 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE RITTRE RED FLAG. 

The corner and the turn in the road were just 
coming into sight now ; the cottage with the 
tumble-down porch was there still, and Mysie’ s 
rose-vine was more tangled and heavy than ever 
with the growth the summer had made. There 
were a few late blossoms on it yet, and the two 
red arm-chairs stood underneath, but they were 
empty — not a sign of Rob or Mysie was to be 
seen. 

“ That’s queer,” said Helen, as they came 
near. “I’ve hardly ever passed here without 
seeing two old people sitting in these chairs. 
They’re not there now, but there are three or 
four other people standing about — men, all of 
them. Who do you suppose they are? I do be- 
lieve Mr. Mountford is one of them ! Isn’t he, 
May ? That one with his face half turned and a 
straw hat? There ! He ’s facing about now.” 

Yes, it was Mr. Mountford — “the squire,” 
as Mysie was always so careful to say. “The 
squire” seemed as great a title as king or em- 


300 THE) GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

peror to her. Why should n’ t it, since he held all 
her destiny in his hand ? 

u What ’s that queer little red flag up there in 
the rose-vine for?” asked May. U A red flag 
means an auction, I thought, but there can’t be 
much to sell off here. ’ ’ 

Squire Mountford turned at the sound of 
Dainty’s sturdy little hoof-beat on the road, and 
lifted his hat with a most gracious bow as they 
passed. They would be young ladies very soon, 
and all generations of young ladies were quite the 
same to the squire. 

“I do believe there are the old people sitting 
inside!” began Helen again. “What do you 
suppose is going on? I don’t see what they’re 
huddled up in there for, much less what Mr. 
Mountford has to do with it all.” 

Her last words were spoken exactly as Dainty 
passed the side-window of the house, and though 
low and guarded in tone, they floated perversely 
across and slipped in through the open pane. 

“What has he to do with it?” echoed Mysie, 
looking after the phaeton with hard dry eyes. 
“It’s little young folk like they know of what’s 
to do anywhere in this life! What ’s he to do wi’ 
it, indeed ? It seems to me he holds the whole 
world in his hand. Hey? Doesna he, Rab?” 

“ Hech, lassie !’ ’ answered Rob hastily. ‘ ‘ Din- 


the tittle red flag. 


3 01 


na belie thysel’ in sic a way. There ’s but one 
han’ that holds us or the belongings o’ us in the 
hollow o’ ’t, an’ it’s no a fellow-mortal like the 
squire. It’s one far above him, and that hauds 
the control o’ him as well as o’ oursel’, like the 
winds and the waves o’ the sea. ’ ’ 

Mysie sat silent a moment. Rob had said all 
this steadily enough, but he was waiting for her 
to say, “Yes, Rab,” all the same. There was 
always that pleading look in his eyes till she did 
say it, and through all the bitterness that had 
come she was keeping Rob’s spirits up yet. 

“It wont come to that, Rab. It’ll no come 
to be sae bad as that,” she was continually saying 
still, though she couldn’t help a trembling little 
fear in her heart as to how far he believed her 
yet, things had “come to that” so many times of 
late. 

And there had been such a stunned feeling in 
her heart all day to-day ! And now at last such a 
wild, bitter one rising up since she had seen the 
little red flag really thrust into her rose- vine at 
the porch. 

“Rab!” she burst out suddenly, “if ye’re 
sure o’ that — if there’s One that really controls 
him as ye say, why doesna He haud him back frae 
bringing such destruction upon us? What have 
we done that it should be like this?” 


302 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Hush, lassie! We’ve done vera foolishly 
in hanging a debt over our ain heads, and if it ’s 
the Lord’s will that it fall, how can we gainsay 
him or ask him why? He’s vera pitifu’ and o’ 
tender mercy ; we’re convinced o’ that.” 

Mysie sat still, holding the arm of the old 
easy-chair, where her boys used to sit, with a 
fierce little grip. She wouldn’t let Rob guess it 
for the world, but she wasn’t convinced. How 
could she be? Very pitiful and of tender mercy, 
and not one of her boys left and the cottage going 
back to the squire ! 

The two or three men outside were beginning 
to move away, and the squire’s horse was pawing 
impatiently at the gate. The men had not really 
cared very much about being there ; they knew 
there was little doubt the squire would buy the 
house in himself, and if he ran it up as high as 
the few hundreds Rob and Mysie still owed him, 
that was as high as they would care about going 
themselves. It was a queer little place, and would 
want repairs before new tenants could very well 
come in. 

They were nodding Good-by now and shutting 
the gate behind them. It was all settled, the 
house was the squire’s, and he was coming in to 
speak to Mysie and Rob. 

“I like to have things quietly understood; 


THE LITTLE RED FLAG. 303 

that ’s much the best way,” he said. “I’m sorry 
things have worked unfavorably with you, but 
every man must look after his own property, and 
I must take care of mine. I shall have to put in 
a tenant that can pay the rent, of course, but I 
sha’ n’t be ready to do that for a few weeks. If 
you like to put off breaking up for that time, you 
can do so. I’ll give you due notice, and mean- 
while you can make plans at your leisure. I wish 
you good afternoon.” 

The squire touched his hat, turned, and went 
out. The gate shut behind him, as it had after 
the others; he untied his bridle-strap, sprang into 
the saddle, and was gone. 

“At our leisure !” Rob echoed, as he watched 
the horse’s flying feet through the cloud of dust it 
was making down the road. “It wunna need sic 
a deal o’ leisure to make plans for the poorhouse. 
Eh, Mysie lass?” 

“Tut, tut!” said Mysie cheerfully, but spring- 
ing up to get her face out of sight. ‘ ‘ It wunna 
come to be sae bad as that, Rab. It canna come 
to be sae bad as that. ’ ’ 


304 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE CLUB ON THE TOP WAVE. 

The little phaeton jogged on as far as the 
fern-bed, after all, and May came back with a 
handful that would just help out those vases to- 
morrow, if she could keep them fresh. 

“ I ’ll just run up and see if I can make it nine 
o’clock,” Helen said, as she drew up at Myrtle’s 
door. “ I wont be a minute if you ’ll wait.” 

She laughed to herself as she went in to find 
how differently she felt about the room this time. 
The uglier it was, the better, for the more de- 
light “The Good-Times Girls” would have in 
whisking it all about. 

“ I wonder if that ’s the way Cinderella’s god- 
mother felt when she turned the old pumpkin- 
shell into something nice,” she thought; but 
there wasn’t much time for reflection; business 
must come first. 

“I’m so glad you’re at home,” she said. 
“I’ve brought the buttons; do you think they 
are right?” 

Myrtle took them in her ladylike hand and 
looked at them with a critical eye. 


THE CLUB ON THE TOP WAVE. 305 

“Just right, ” she said, with a bright smile. 
“And I’m sure to be at home, for I’m a work- 
ing woman now, you know. I must make every 
half-hour count.” 

“Yes, and I ’ll tell you how you can make at 
least one count double, if you ’ll just do something 
to please me. It isn’t for the health to stay shut 
up all the time ; everybody knows that ; and of 
course we can’t work worth a sixpence if we 
do n’ t look out for our strength. I ’ m twice as 
good for a day’s business if I’ve had a turn with 
Dainty first, and I’ve been thinking of you all 
the time I ’ve been out to-day. I want you to go 
out with me now and then for a breath. I always 
want company, you know. Now don’t say a 
* word, for I’m just coming round to-morrow to 
pick you up. You wont refuse me, I know.” 

Myrtle’s face flushed. What luxury that 
would be ! 

“Oh, but I can’t, dear. You’re so kind to 
think of it, but just see this pile of work waiting; 
and I can’t expect indulgences any more. We 
do just as well without them, you know, when 
we once make up our minds.” 

“Do we? Now, Miss Myrtle it’s useless 
talking to me as if you hadn’t good sense, for 
I’ve known what a wise little head you have 
altogether too long. We don’t begin to do as 


Good-Time* Girl*. 


20 


306 the good-times girds. 

well without indulgences; I don’t, at least, and 
I must have this one that I ’m begging for, if no 
more. I ’ll come round bright and early to-mor- 
row — nine o’clock, if that will do, and you wont 
say no. What do you suppose the Lord gives us 
these exquisite mornings for, if ‘ indulgences ’ 
are n’t good?” 

“She’s going,” she answered exultantly, as 
she joined May again outside. “It’s all settled, 
and you girls can just be on hand. I shall want 
to be in it all with you horridly, but never mind. 
I shall have my share afterward. I ’ll give you 
just three-quarters of an hour to finish everything 
and be out of the way, and then I’ll find an 
excuse to come in and see the ‘ surprise. ’ ’ ’ 

The next morning did seem like an “indul-* 
gence” fresh and sparkling from heaven’s own 
hand. Only to breathe and to feel the skies over 
one was luxury by itself, and consciously or 
unconsciously every one seemed to be going 
about with fresh spirit in heart and step. ‘ ‘ The 
Good-Times Girls” were more than fresh. Ex- 
citement was running over. Was everybody’s 
clock right? Would the coast surely be clear at 
five minutes past nine? Who was going to take 
the bedstead down? Would “husband” see to 
that, or should they have to ask Thorne ? 

There was no need of asking anybody. Mrs. 


THE CLUB ON THE TOP WAVE. 307 

Rhodes had stood in the front-door and watched 
the phaeton disappear round one corner, just as 
“The Good-Times Girls ” came in sight round 
another. 

“Husband,” she called, with a hysterical 
little quaver in her voice, “get that hammer. 
It’s time!” and up stairs she vanished with a 
haste that very nearly left her without breath. 

“I’ll just get these things off the bed!” she 
said, as she swooped at the ‘ c old yellow maple, ’ ’ 
spotless in its white belongings and ‘ ‘ made up ’ ’ 
with a dainty touch that went a great way to- 
wards redeeming it, after all. “She’s dreadful 
particular about her bed, and those girls would 
have everything pell-mell. I’ll give the things 
a good fold and get them safe on the closet shelf. 
I must find a place for that pillow-hypocrite too. 
She ’d fly if there should a wrinkle get into that.” 

Mrs. Rhodes was quick in her movements for 
a woman who was as broad as she was long, 
and “husband” was proverbially slow in his; 
so that although he had roused into unusual haste 
for the occasion, the “things” were all safely in 
the closet, and Mrs. Rhodes laying an impatient 
hand on the corner of the mattress, as he ap- 
peared with the washstand shelf already screwed 
to its brackets in one hand, and a hammer and 
screw-driver ready for use in the other. 


3°8 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“Just let those things drop half a jiffie, please, 
and whisk these here ticks into the garret; they 
can go across that cot by the south chimney for 
now. There come those girls. They ’re just 
full, I expect, but they’ll have to rein in till we 
get this ark out of the way. ’ ’ 

Bee had made her way in first, and was at the 
top of the stairs, with a look through the wide- 
open door, just in time to catch the last words. 

“Yes, we shall, that’s the sad truth! Girls, 
there isn’t room for all of us, just yet. Control 
your spirits and take seats on the stairs. I ’ll let 
you know the moment you can have the floor,” 
and Bee seated herself with her queer little nose 
and white bangs pushed through the top banis- 
ters to give her a better look. 

This was hard, but Thorne wasn’t in sight 
yet, and with neither lounge nor bureau at hand 
the club couldn’t be doing much even if they 
were let in. It was some comfort to hear 1 ‘ hus- 
band’ s” obedient footsteps going up and down 
the attic stairs slowly, it is true, under the weight 
he carried, but surely for all that; and now there 
was a ripping and crashing sound; the joints of 
the old maple were coming in twain ! 

“There! That can rest in the hallway till 
there’s more chance,” said Mrs. Rhodes tri- 
umphantly, as head-board and foot-board came 


TIIE CEUB ON THS TOP WAVE. 


309 


apart. “Those girls wont wait any extra time, 
it’s plain enough, and there’s the bureau to set 
out yet.” 

“Husband” looked dubiously at the newly- 
mentioned piece of furniture as he passed it with 
half the bedstead in his arms. 

“That’s hefty, with the drawers full as they 
be,” he said. “A’ n’t the things coming out?” 

Mrs. Rhodes gave a little puff of mild indig- 
nation and scorn. 

“Hefty! What’s that got to do with it? 
Do you suppose I ’d overhaul her things ! We ’re 
going about far enough, as it is, maybe she’ll 
say. ’ ’ 

There was no further remonstrance, and ‘ ‘ hus- 
band ’ ’ was giving a meek look at the bureau as 
he came back, when a cry arose in concert from 
the club. 

“Here’s Thorne with the other things. O 
Thorne, do come up stairs. There’s piles of 
lifting to do.” The club vanished out of the 
way, and Thorne came up two steps at a time. 
The scattered remains of the bedstead and the 
bureau disappeared in a trice, and Mrs. Rhodes 
waved a majestic signal to the weaker helper of 
the two. 

“Now you just turn round and ease him with 
what he’s got to fetch, and then we’ll disappear. 


310 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

Those children can have all the room and all the 
time that ’s left.” 

The club were all at the front-door, with their 
heads in a cluster to see how the old bureau 
looked. 

“ Isn’t it a beauty!” came the chorus. “The 
idea of ever selling it! See how dark the ma- 
hogany is. Two or three grandmothers must 
have dressed at that, I should think. There! 
They’re coming now! Who? The grandmo- 
thers? No, no; ‘husband’ and Thorne. Do let 
us get somewhere where we sha’ n’t be in the 
way, if we can ever find out where that is!” 

They had hardly had time to decide when the 
necessity for it was over; the lounge and the bu- 
reau stood each in its new place, and the room 
was entirely vacated in favor of the club, while 
the despised portions of the bedstead were slowly 
following their predecessors over the attic stairs. 

The club swarmed in and took possession like 
bees in a new hive. 

“ Is this the place!” exclaimed Fanny. “It’s 
‘ transmogrified ’ already. Oh, that bureau ! 
Where are your mats and pincushion, May ? 
O Moppet, do help me straighten this lounge ! 
They haven’t got it in the middle of the space. 
And it ought to have its. head against the wall, 
oughtn’t it?” 


THE CLUB ON THE TOP WAVE. 311 

“Why?” 

“Why, so as to make the pillows all right at 
night. There’s no head-board like a bed, you 
know. Bee, you’ll spill every drop of water out 
of that vase if you do n’ t stop pirouetting in that 
style.” 

“I’m waiting for Barbie to get that table- 
spread of hers on. I expect to extinguish her 
embroidery with the gorgeousness of my floral 
display. ’ ’ 

“You will if you upset the water over it. 
Where are you, Barbie? Just move the things, 
and get that old hobgoblin of a cover off, wont 
you, dear? There, that ’s just right for the lounge, 
isn’t it? And the cretonne is prettier than ever 
in this light.” 

“Who ’s that coming?” exclaimed Rose, with 
a terrified look. “ I hear a step.” 

Bee sprang towards the door. 

“Oh, it’s Thorne with the rocking-chair. 
How did we ever forget that? It’s overwhelm- 
ing! Moppet, it ’s for you to say where that goes.” 

“And where is the best place for my shell, 
Fanny?” hurried in Rose. “Do say! You’re 
committee, you know.” 

“Right on the corner of the mantle, and tuck 
in the flowers as fast as you can. And where is 
‘husband,’ and the shelf for the closet-door?” 


312 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

The obedient footstep was at that moment 
making its last descent from aloft, and an equally 
submissive face looked into the room. 

“If I sha’ n’t be in the way, I ’ll see if that 
there new-fangled notion can catch on to that 
door. ’ ’ 

It was “catclied on,” and all the other ar- 
rangements and improvements hurried promiscu- 
ously in its train. The primrose-pot went in the 
window, the table-spread was declared to give an 
air of distinction at once, a tall, graceful vase 
standing in the centre of it with May’s ferns 
drooping over the sides; the bureau-handles fairly 
gleamed with their final rub, the grandmother 
chair stood by, stylish and stately at once, the 
lounge pillows leaned temptingly against the 
wall, and all was done. 

The club fell into attitudes and gazed, but 
Fanny glanced at an old tall clock just outside 
the door. 

“ Gaze on, admiring throng, for one short min- 
ute and a half,” she said, “and then time’s up.” 

“Oh, it’s too pretty to leave!” was the cho- 
rus. “ She ’ll think she ’s dreaming. And is n’t 
it too bad Miss Beatrice can’t be here? What 
does anybody want of a bedstead or a washstand 
in her room? I’m going home this minute to 
take mine out of the way. ’ ’ 


the: club on the: top wave. 313 

The club hesitated a moment, got as far as 
the threshold, turned and looked again. It was 
pretty! There was room for more improvement, 
it was true, but the dismal tone was gone, a deli- 
cate, ladylike one had taken its place, and there 
was a dear, homelike little corner where the 
grandmother chair stood between the table and 
the vase of flowers and ferns. 

But the clock in the hall gave a whir as if it 
were going to strike, the club gave a little gasp, 
closed the door softly, and vanished in a dissol- 
ving view. 

Mrs. Rhodes looked after them through a 
crack in the window-curtain, and this time with 
her apron corner all ready for use. 

“Now what ever did put it into those young 
creatures’ heads?” she ejaculated as “husband” 
slowly and carefully returned hammer and screw- 
driver to their place. “And they’re the pret- 
tiest set I ever had in my house at once. And I 
wouldn’t like to say I was envious, but I do feel 
those girls have had a privilege that I would — ’ ’ 
but there came Dainty’s pretty white head and 
mane round the other corner again, and Mr. 
Rhodes waited in vain for the rest of the remark. 

“There,” Helen was saying, “I’ve brought 
you safe home three minutes in advance of my 
promise. Wont that do?” 


314 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Myrtle’s face had been looking as fresh as the 
morning itself, with the clear peachy color the 
air had brought up and the light it had put into 
her eyes and smile, but at Helen’s words it cloud- 
ed; a sudden quiver about the lips dashed out 
the smile. 

“Home!” Myrtle said. “ Not home, Helen. 
Don’t call it that!” 

But she recovered herself as quickly as she 
had been taken by surprise. 

“Never mind, dear,” she said. “Home’s 
where the heart is, you know ; and if you and a 
few others look in as often as you have, and 
bring a little love every time, why, what more 
shall I need?” 

“Now wait a minute, just one minute, 
please!” began Helen hurriedly, as she laid 
down the reins. “ Of coure we ’re coming often, 
and we shall bring more and more love every 
time; but suppose we wanted to bring something 
else? Suppose we brought just some tiny love- 
tokens — suppose a few of us should, and Miss 
Beatrice Marston, too — you wouldn’t take it 
amiss? It would only be for dear old love, you 
know, and because we couldn’t bear that things 
shouldn’t seem like home; you wouldn’t care, 
would you, dear Miss Myrtle?” 

Myrtle looked at her bewildered. 


THE CL,UB ON THE TOP WAVE. 315 

“What do you mean, Helen?” she asked. 
“What can you possibly mean?” 

“Never mind what I mean,” replied Helen 
eagerly. “ Ret ’s just run up stairs and see!” 

“ I do hope things are all right, ’ > she added 
to herself as she hurried over the stairs. “ I saw 
Mrs. Rhodes bobbing behind the curtain with 
her apron in her eye. ’T would be so distracting 
if anything had failed.” 

But nothing had failed, as the first glance 
through the opened door showed. Was it the 
right door though, or the right place? Instead of 
the crowded, rather stuffy-looking place Myrtle 
had left, there was a bright, cheery little sitting- 
room, dainty and tasteful, with plenty of space, 
and a cosey sewing corner, with a tempting old 
chair, and with ferns, roses, and primroses smi- 
ling over the whole. 

Helen gave a little cry of triumph and de- 
light. 

“I knew it! I knew they ’d have it all right! 
It was just Fanny and Bee and a few of us, and 
Miss Beatrice helping us out; and you don’t 
mind our meddling, do you, ‘just for love’? You 
will think it’s a beginning, just a little begin- 
ning of home !” 


316 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“the pinch-off purse.” 

Saturdays come round with a whirl, or seem 
to stand off and wait endlessly, according to the 
amount of enthusiasm that has to be bottled up 
meanwhile, and to most of The Good-Times Girls 
it seemed as if the next one would never come. 
Barbie, it is true, went on in her own self-con- 
tained little way, and May didn’t confess wheth- 
er she was in a hurry or not; but the rest did not 
hesitate to buzz all sorts of impatience into each 
other’s sympathizing ears whenever they hap- 
pened to meet. 

Would the club ever find itself at Miss Mars- 
ton’s again? What would she have for them to 
do another time? They did n’t think they ought 
to be there much between times, if she gave them 
a whole afternoon every week, and they were 
keeping away for the most part; only Helen and 
Fanny had been in to report the conclusion of 
their first piece of work. 

They were enthusiastic reporters certainly, 
and had vied with each other in the tales they 
had to tell. 


“the pinch-ofe purse.” 317 

“ If you could only have seen it !” Fanny ex- 
claimed, with untold pictures hanging behind her 
words. 

“If you could only have seen her!” hurried 
in Helen. “If you could have seen her in the 
midst of it all ! That was what made it perfect. 
She went about from one thing to another, giving 
each one a little touch, as you might to a child’s 
face, and then she laughed, and then she stretched 
out both hands to me suddenly and broke right 
into a little shower of tears. And in a moment 
they were gone again, and she sat down in the 
grandmother chair and took me right in her arms 
and just held me. ‘It’s too dear and delicious,’ 
she said; ‘ but the love is the sweetest of all !’ and 
then I was afraid I was going to cry, and I jumped 
and said, ‘Will you look at this closet-door, 
though?’ and I pulled it wide open, and there 
were all the things on the shelf, too cute for any- 
thing; and we both laughed, and she said it was 
the brightest thought in the world; but I think, 
after all, the old bureau was the best. And then I 
pulled a rosebud out of the vase and put it in her 
dress, and she sat down in the grandmother chair 
and began to sew, just to let tr.e see how she 
would look, and her face — well, I despise any- 
thing that can possibly sound sentimental — but 
her face did have the loveliest light shining out 


31 8 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

of it ! just like a smile, only it wasn’t a smile; it 
was in her eyes and everywhere at once. ’ ’ 

But the world turns round if you only wait for 
it, and the club’s afternoon came at last. The 
meeting was complete at the first stroke of the 
clock; laggards and absentees there were none. 

‘ ‘ Here are your flowers all ready for you this 
time, ’ ’ Beatrice said. ‘ 1 Choose your own deco- 
rations, only you must come to me for them, as 
you see,” and she lifted a superb basket Thorne 
had just sent in, the perfume floating out in great 
whiffs as it was moved. 

“Oh, aren’t we lucky girls!” exclaimed Mop- 
pet, as she shook out a perfect Bon Silene bud 
from the tangle its thorns had made with other 
flowers. “ How many people ever saw a basket 
like that in their lives? Wouldn’t it be fun to 
shower a few down here and there, like the sur- 
prises the old women in the fairy stories used to 
drop through the chimneys at night !” 

“Would it? Are you sure it would?” asked 
Beatrice quickly. Moppet started, there was 
something so much in earnest in the tone. 

“ Why, what do you mean?” she asked hasti- 
ly in her turn. 

Beatrice smiled. “I should hardly say that 
answered my question; but I ’ll answer yours by- 
and-by. It seems to me, though, that the club 


“the pinch-oef purse.’’ 319 

must have some little business matters to discuss 
before it goes really to work. Have you decided 
about officers ? And if you have any plans, gen- 
eral or particular, as to what sort of work you 
would like to do — ” 

A general murmur of melancholy arose from 
the club. 

“We thought — we did hope — we know we 
oughtn’t to ask it, but the beauty of it all was 
going to be having you make the plans. ’ ’ 

“I? I did it for you last week because you 
hadn’t fairly got on your feet; but you’ll have 
wishes of your own, of course. ’ ’ 

“Now, girls, I should just like to be heard. I 
think there ’s a very serious aspect to all this.” 

It was Bee’s voice coming in with a sud- 
den whir, and Bee had jumped to her feet, her 
rosebud and her droll white bangs all tumbling 
out of place together with the earnestness of her 
speech. 

The Good-Times Girls gazed at her a moment, 
and then by a common impulse cheered with a 
soft clapping of hands. 

Bee telling them things were serious ! Bee 
turning up as the business woman of the club, 
with burdens of thought on her mind ! 

‘ ‘ Thank you, ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ I am glad you 
approve of my sentiment, and I ’ll reward you by 


320 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


telling you what it is. This club can’t do any- 
thing without funds. What great work was ever 
done in this world without money spent for mate- 
rials at least? It was all very well to let Miss 
Beatrice provide more than half the last time, be- 
cause we didn’t know what was coming, and she 
liked Miss Myrtle too; but how will the club be 
doing anything if somebody else does it all for 
them, I should like to ask?” 

This was too much. A business speech from 
Bee, the very first one made in the club, and a 
good one too ! The applause was longer and 
stronger than before, but Bee neither blushed nor 
budged. She knew she was right, and the only 
thing she couldn’t see was how the others could 
help seeing it too. 

“But we do see it, Bee, now you’ve showed 
it to us. Only now, O oracle, whence come these 
most necessary funds, if you please ?’ ’ 

“That’s more than I can tell, and it doesn’t 
belong to me to answer such a question if I could. 
It belongs to the club;” and Bee dropped down 
into her seat again ; her duty was done. 

“Bee’s right!” w T as the suppressed whisper. 

1 1 But oh, dear ! what then ?’ ’ and a rather wo- 
ful silence came next. The club gazed at each 
other and then at Miss Beatrice. But what use 
was there in looking at her? They ought to be 


“the pinch-oee purse.” 321 

ashamed to let her — well, spend money for them, 
in plain English — as Bee had said. 

“Well, I hope we’re not quite penniless,” 
said Fanny suddenly; “but at the same time I 
don’t see why we can’t hunt up a good many 
materials and do quantities of nice things without 
spending or wanting any money. Couldn’t we, 
Miss Beatrice? Don’t you think we could?” 

“Yes, I’m sure you could. But I’m afraid, 
too, that if you keep on, a good many very tempt- 
ing things will come up that you may want very 
much to do, where the wheels wont move without 
a little help of the kind Bee suggests.” 

Silence again, and a reflective season on the 
part of the club. 

“We ’ve got to have a fund and a treasurer to 
take care of it, that’s all,” broke in Helen at 
last. 1 1 Of course we do have money among us, 
more or less ; but it seems to scatter off so. 
There’s never any left when we happen to want 
an unexpected thing.” 

“ Perhaps if we ’d plan and manage a little,” 
ventured May, with her usual shrinking away 
behind what she would say if she thought she 
ought to. 

“Ask Bab!” cried Moppet, turning round 
with a swoop to where Barbie sat. “I never 
saw such a girl ! She isn’t any richer than the 
21 


Good-Times Girls. 


322 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


rest of us, but there never is any lovely little 
thing coming up to do for anybody that she 
hasn’t the money then and there — besides hun- 
dreds of other times when nobody knows. ’ ’ 

“Moppet! How can you!” exclaimed Bar- 
bie, with a cruel blush spreading up to temples 
and hair. “What do you know about it? Of 
course everybody has money sometimes. ’ ’ 

The blush ought to have entreated for her, but 
Moppet went relentlessly on. 

“I don’t know about it, and that’s just what 
I wish you would let us all do. I know you ’re 
always ready, and we all know it, as I said; but 
the way you manage it is just what I beg you ’ll 
tell.” 

Barbie looked entreatingly at Beatrice, but she 
only slipped an arm round her and laid a hand 
noiselessly on one of Barbie’s own. 

“So you’re a good little financier, are you?” 
she said. “Better than the rest? I’m sure 
you’ll tell us if there’s any little trick the club 
really want to learn. ’ ’ 

“Oh, it’s nothing! I never do anything for 
anybody! I do n’t, indeed.” 

“Truth! Truth!” demanded the club, re- 
proachfully, and Barbie’s color went deeper and 
higher than before. 

“There’s nothing to tell, truly,” she reitera- 


the pinch-oee purse. ” 


a 


323 


ted. “Only I found money did scatter, as Helen 
says; and so when I get any new supply I just 
pinch off a little that I ’in determined sha’ n’t go, 
and put it in a purse by itself. And then, when 
I’m buying things for myself, you know how 
often it happens that there ’s a choice between 
two where one may be a trifle more to your fancy 
but the other is really pretty enough and not as 
expensive, and then sometimes I take the lower- 
priced one and put the difference away in the 
same purse. Or sometimes, if I think of taking 
some little indulgence that I could have but 
don’t really care for, and know I have plenty 
without, I just let it pass, and slip what I might 
have paid for it away with the rest. You’ve 
no idea how it counts up; and if it’s wanted for 
anything, it’s right there; and there’s so much 
satisfaction in seeing that being careful really 
amounts to something, you know.” 

The club listened, then broke into a round 
of enthusiastic applause. “O Bab! why have 
you kept such an idea under a bushel all this 
time. You’ve defrauded your generation. We’ll 
do it ! The club shall have just such a purse, 
sha’ n’ t we, girls ? And call it the ‘ pinch-off 
purse.’ Would n’t that be a good name ?” 

“But it isn’t only when she ‘don’t really 
care,’ I don’t believe!” whispered Moppet to 


324 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


Rose. “It’s a hundred times when she could 
care quite a little, I ’ll risk my head.” 

Rose felt herself flush, but she hoped Moppet 
didn’t see. She couldn’t remember when she 
had had any money left after buying what she 
wanted for herself ; except, of course, at Christ- 
mas and such times, and those things come back. 

“Oh, but I don’t call it pinching off,” said 
Barbie. “It’s only looking out for future pleas- 
ure, you know, only choosing where you would 
put little sums.” 

“But it is pinching off,” persisted Moppet; 
“and it is denying yourself, to give away. If 
we ever get to be saints enough to call that 1 look- 
ing out for future pleasures,’ I shall be glad.” 

“But you don’t need to be a saint to find 
that out. One has only to try it and see, and 
that you ’ve done many a time, of course.” 

Moppet gave a little groan, and Bee echoed 
it with downcast eyes and folded hands. 

“Please put it to vote, Miss Beatrice,” said 
Fanny, quite rousing up. 

‘ ‘ What? Whether giving away is a pleasure ?’ ’ 

“No, no. Whether we’ll try Barbie’s way 
for the club, and whether 1 pinch-off’ shall be 
the name of the purse. ’ ’ 

It was soon settled. The club was to adopt 
Barbie’s method of providing a side-treasury, and 


the; pinch-off purse.” 


325 




the title some voice in the buzz had suggested 
seemed to take. For the present, at least, the 
club’s pocket-book was to be dubbed by that 
name. 

“And let Barbie keep it. Fet Barbie be 
treasurer. Don’t you say so, girls?” was the 
next outbreak of the chorus, and then the out- 
break settled down into a well-regulated vote, 
and Barbie was quietly installed. 

“And I’ll tell you what I’ve been think- 
ing,” began a separate voice. “I think Fanny 
ought to come next to Miss Beatrice, for it ’s 
really all her getting up, you know; and if she 
was something, I don’t know what you call it, 
exactly, ‘standing committee,’ perhaps, she could 
decide quantities of things for us, and help little 
matters along without our always having to trou- 
ble Miss Marston. Don’t you see?” 


326 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

FOR WHOSE SAKE? 

This proposal met equal favor, and Fanny 
was installed in a position that Beatrice insisted 
was quite her own and not secondary at all. 

“But I really don’t see what there is to ‘ help 
along,’ just at present,” Fanny said, not trying 
to conceal a pleasure that she felt, but looking 
a little puzzled at the same time. 

“That’s it exactly,” began Moppet in some 
excitement. “Daisy Herkimer asked me about 
it — about the club, I mean. She’d heard of it, 
and she wanted to know what we were going to 
do, and what we were going to do it for; and I 
couldn’t tell her, to save my life. I knew what 
we did do the other day, but we can’t expect 
Miss Beatrice to be devising — if that ’s the word — 
such lovely work as that every day. It seems 
as if we ought to have some plan.” 

This suggestion seemed rather staggering to 
the club, and as usual, when anything was too 
much for them, all eyes turned towards Beatrice’s 
chair. 

Beatrice laughed, and somehow whenever she 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 327 

did that, the club suddenly felt as if everything 
was right. 

‘ ‘ I think the best plan for all the year round 
is to keep eyes, ears, and hearts wide open for 
catching bright ideas. And out of those bright 
ideas I fancy so many other plans will grow as 
to keep this one of the busiest working clubs in 
the land. I can think of half a dozen things this 
moment, but I don’t want all the suggestions to 
come from me. But this doesn’t give a very 
definite answer to Daisy’s questions, it’s very 
true. What did you tell her, Moppet dear. ’ ’ 

Moppet hesitated. It wasn’t her way at all 
to looked confused, but she certainly came rather 
near it just now. 

“I did n’t know what to* tell her. I could n’t 
tell her just what we were going to do, and I 
didn’t want to say we were going to try to do 
good. She’d have thought I was a prig.” 

“I don’t see why she should,” interposed 
Helen warmly. “ If she asks you again, tell her 
that ‘-The Good-Times Girls ’ are going to have 
the best = times in the world, because they ’re 
going to please themselves by trying to please 
other people. I think that’s simple enough.” 

“But if she asks me what they’re going to 
do it for?” pursued Moppet, who felt that she 
must get things cleared up, once for all. 


328 the: good-times girds. 

There was no answer to this. Helen felt one 
or two recollections hurrying in — something that 
May had said about “nothing being prosy if we 
did it for His sake,” and about its being such 
happiness if we could give him even “the least 
little pleasure in return. ” Was it for their own 
sakes or other people’s, or for His, then, that the 
club was going to work? She didn’t know, and 
she didn’t believe any of them knew. She 
should think Miss Marston would be in despair 
with such a stupid set ! 

But Beatrice didn’t look in despair at all. 
She was only waiting to let the club have its say. 

4 1 1 think we ought to have a motto, ’ ’ came a 
low buzz from Bee. 4 4 If we had, we could ex- 
plain ourselves to anybody who asked. ’ ’ 

A half-audible smile went round the club. 

4 4 If you’ll please explain ourselves to our- 
selves first, Bee, we ’d be so much obliged !” 

44 Give me your motto and I will,” answered 
Bee, not discomfited in the least. 

44 Oh dear, what do we mean, Miss Beatrice?” 
asked Fanny despairingly. 44 We don’t know.” 

44 Don’t know what you ’re a club for? For 
two or three reasons, I should think. For your 
own sakes, and for others’ sakes, and for the sake 
of still one more, dearer than all. That ’s what 
makes giving 4 cups of cold water ’ sweetest, is n’t 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


329 


it, dear — because He said it was really the same 
as if we could give them to him? And if he is 
dearest of all, that reason will rather come first 
of all; don’t you think so?” 

It was Fanny’s turn to hesitate now. But 
what was the use of hesitating? If Miss Bea- 
trice talked to them about the Ford Jesus just as 
simply and quietly as she did about anything 
else — as if it were all a matter of course — why 
shouldn’t they answer in the same way? 

“Yes, if he really was dearest, I suppose it 
would,” she answered suddenly. “But I don’t 
know how many of us can say that.” 

She was glad she had answered; it would be 
easier the next time, and so much pleasanter not 
to be keeping something back; but, after all, it 
had brought a troubled look into Miss Marston’s 
face. 

“He’ll be dearer and dearer the more you 
know him, though,” she said. “Doesn’t it 
make him dear just to remember that he said he 
should take all little kindnesses done to his weak- 
est ones as gifts to himself? But there’s no 
hurry about the motto. I think ’t would be 
charming, but we can’t settle everything this 
afternoon. Suppose you think it over and tell 
me some day how you would like, 1 For Chrises 
dear sake. ’ And to-day I had so many things I 


330 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

wanted to propose. One is, would you like to 
have me read aloud sometimes while you are at 
work? It is so dreadful to be a drone among 
such workers as this club showed themselves last 
week.” 

This vote was taken by acclamation; if she 
were only not going to tire herself too much for 
them; the club had a distressing twinge of anx- 
iety about that now and then. 

“Then as to work for next week, I’m sure 
some of you will have something to propose by 
that time, so I’ll only make one suggestion, so 
that you can be ready then, if you care to carry 
it out. I went through St. Tuke’s Hospital one 
day, a year or two ago, and I have never forgot- 
ten the eyes of the children there, great, beauti- 
ful eyes so many of them; and some were plead- 
ing, some restless, some patient, and some full of 
pain, but such a hungry look in them all ! All 
but one little fellow’s. He had a picture grasped 
and crumpled in his thin little hand, and his were 
feasting ! I have thought of it so many a time 
since, and now I propose to this most serene but 
much-occupied club to bring materials for a few 
picture scrap-books next week, and make them 
up for the hospital if there is time. If there is 
too much else going on, they can wait for odd 
minutes; it will be all the same.” 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


331 


It took very little time to vote this proposal 
“a perfectly lovely idea.” But that was for next 
week; was anything coming for this? 

‘ ‘ That was rather putting the cart before the 
horse, wasn’t it?” Beatrice asked. “But never 
mind, it hasn’t hurt to-day’s plan to wait. I 
felt that we shouldn’t have a great deal of time 
left after we had talked over things as we were 
likely to do, so it isn’t very much; only a little 
secret that May and I put our heads together 
over this time, so we shall both be disappointed 
if you don’t fancy the idea. Wasn’t it Moppet 
who said just now she would like to shower 
flowers down where they were wanted, like god- 
mothers’ surprises in fairy tales? We shall ex- 
pect Moppet to vote for us, at least. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I’ll vote for anything that has flowers 
in it,” said Moppet eagerly. “I’d sell them on 
the street corner, I do believe.” 

Beatrice smiled. 

“The club hasn’t got beyond giving away 
yet, I believe ; at least, that is as far as my plan 
goes. I wonder how you would like a few em- 
bryo hot-houses — we might as well call them so, 
why not? I mean, suppose each of you sets up a 
little establishment of plants — a window, or a 
shelf, or a table, or whatever you choose; the 
more the better — and then watch them, or smile 


332 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

on them, or shake a spell at them, anything to 
make them ‘blossom as the rose/ Then, when 
the winter settles down, there’ll be endlessly 
something delightful coming up that you can do 
by the help of your flowers. I’m sure there will. 
It couldn’t fail. Would you like to try?” 

The answer was unquestionable. But where 
were the plants coming from? The treasury 
would be running over some day, it was to be 
hoped, but that day certainly had not come. 

Beatrice saw the question in their eyes. ‘ ‘ Oh, 
you needn’t trouble about that,” she said, “if the 
club isn’t above accepting little offerings while 
they’re getting their start. It is September al- 
ready, you know, and plants that have been out 
for the summer must look for new homes, or die; 
and Thorne has just been solemnly taking up all 
he thinks he can keep, and bewailing himself 
over the rest. And from what May tells me, 
her uncle Jack’s gardener is at just about the 
same point, and through May’s intercession he 
has orders to present any company of young ladies 
who may inquire for such things with the best he 
may have left. Thorne will do the same. In 
fact I have my suspicions he is impatiently watch- 
ing the corner of the house about this time to see 
if anything in the shape of a club-member will 
emerge. ’ ’ 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


333 


The club sprang to its feet. What, right 
away? Now? Could they really? And in Mr. 
Llewellyn’s grounds too? Did he know about 
the club? Oh, of course he did! How kind of 
him ! They should sink if they met him, though. 
They were desperately afraid of him, he was such 
a quiz. How should they get the plants home 
though ? And where were the pots coming 
from? 

“Well, I should mildly like to remark, ” 
came in Helen’s voice, “that if this club can’t 
make its own arrangements for carrying a few 
bundles, this club might as well expire; and if 
its treasury can’t furnish a few flower-pots, that 
bottomless box of Bee’s would be the very thing 
to hold the funds.” 

“Bnt perhaps the treasurer w T ould n’t furnish 
them if the treasury would.” 

The club started. They were certainly Bar- 
bie’s quiet, self-contained tones ; but it was so 
seldom she interfered with what any one else pro- 
posed. 

“That is to say, without a positive vote,” she 
went on. ‘ ‘ But I warn you beforehand, I shall 
never want to see any money spent where a little 
contriving could save it, and if we want flower- 
pots, I think we had better look first and see how 
many we can hunt up. And often there are little 


334 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


boxes that will do for some things just as well. 
If you try ‘pinching off,’ as you call it, a little 
while, you’ll find that it’s the sixpences that 
count, after all. ’ ’ 

“Don’t lecture us, Barbie dear. We’re only 
beginners, remember, and we’re so glad you know 
better than we. The worst of this thing is it 
takes us away too soon. That may be a mercy to 
Miss Beatrice though, ’ ’ and the club said good-by 
with various grimaces of regret, anticipation, and 
submission to what was plainly the thing to be 
done. 

‘ ‘ There ! Thorne is watching for us, sure 
enough,” exclaimed Bee, as she fluttered out in 
advance and caught sight of a head peering 
round the corner where the little plant-house 
stood. “I wonder if he’s made up an exalted 
idea of this club since he gave his countenance to 
it the other day. ’ ’ 

“Oh, he thinks anything a privilege that Miss 
Marston tells him to do,” answered Moppet, and 
they followed on. Beatrice could see them from 
her side-window almost out of sight, but not 
quite, flitting in and out among the flower-beds, 
and gathering larger and larger piles in the huge 
sheets of brown paper Thorne had had foresight 
to provide. 

Roses, geraniums, bavardias, pansies, sweet 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


335 


alyssum, heliotrope, and begonias — one thing 
after another was added and distributed among 
the crowd. 

“There! that’s the last,’’ said Fanny, seeing 
that Thorne came to a pause, and suddenly re- 
membering her responsibility as an indefinite 
* chargee ’ of anything that might chance to turn 
up. “Now, girls, let ’s pick up our bundles; and 
thank you, Thorne, a hundred times for each of 
us. I don’t see how we can go home with you 
though, May, this afternoon, and carry all this. 
Sha’ n’t we come round another day?” 

“There isn’t anything about the bundles that 
need interfere as I know of,” interposed Thorne. 
“If you’ll just write your names on the papers, I 
will see that they find you all right. Then you 
will start clear for Mr. Llewellyn’s, and if there’s 
anything to carry from there, why, you’re empty- 
handed, you see. ’ ’ 

Fanny hesitated. “I don’t know. It does 
seem to me the club ought to carry its own bun- 
dles,” she said. “ If we have all our work done 
for us, what kind of workers shall we be? What 
do you say, Barbie?” she asked, turning sudden- 
ly to where Barbie stood, in her usual calm, which 
was half quizzed but wholly admired by the 
other girls. 

“That wouldn’t do, of course; but one way 


336 the good-times girls. 

may be wiser than another sometimes. I’m 
afraid if we go home with these we sha’ n’t have 
time for May’s afterwards; and wouldn’t it be 
better to get the whole thing finished at once, 
since Thorne is so kind ? It might rain Monday, 
or we mightn’t all get together, perhaps.” 

Fanny made a little grimace. “You’re al- 
ways right, Bab. I wish I had half as much 
sense. Come then, girls, let us go ; and thank 
you very much, Thorne. 

“But I do think we’re almost too luxurious,” 
she went on as they left the grounds. “I am 
afraid we have too good times ! No other set of 
girls ever had a Miss Beatrice to go to, and so 
many helps, and such tempting things to do. ’ ’ 

“Now, Fanny,” said Bee, “is there any use in 
doing penance as we go along? I agree with you 
perfectly about Miss Beatrice, but I’ll leave it to 
the club if any set of girls couldn’t find a pleasant 
room to meet in, and hunt up pleasant things to 
do? And I really wouldn’t worry for a little 
while, till you see what comes. I shouldn’t be at 
all surprised if even Miss Beatrice sets us down to 
something prosaic enough some day.” 


AN UNWELCOME VISITO 


337 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 

The next few days sped away with no excite- 
ment to the club except running to Barbie with 
first offerings to the “pinch-off purse,” and each 
contributor seemed to have more difficulty in ex- 
pressing her surprise at 4 ‘ the queer way it 
worked, ’ ’ as Bee said. 

“Why, I never dreamed you could do it so 
often — that so many chances came up !” “ Why 

didn’t we find it out before?” “Bab, have you 
known this all this time, and never told?” “I’ve 
often and often thought of saving little bits, but 
it never seemed to be of any use if I did, for the 
money only scattered off somewhere else. But 
this idea of putting it away by itself, where it ’ll 
show and count up !” 

They had all come but Rose before the week 
w r as out, and various little wonderings flitted 
through the minds of the club as to whether the 
treasurer, as treasurer, would get sight of her 
right away. No one asked, or would dream of 
asking, only they knew what her way about such 
things usually was. 


Good-Timos Girls. 


22 


33 8 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

But in she came, sure enough, as Friday was 
coming to a close, her face shining, and her 
pocket-book in her hand. 

“I’ve tried it, Barbie!” she said triumph- 
antly; “I’ve tried it, and it really is nice! 
There was just the loveliest piece of ribbon — 
and you know I dote on ribbons — really a beauty, 
and offered for next to nothing as a remnant, you 
know. It would have been so becoming,” and 
here Rose’s face dropped with a slight twinge. 
But it was only for a moment, and she ran on, 
shining again, “And it really was such a bar- 
gain, and bargains are worth while, I do think, 
but I concluded I’d ‘pinch;’ and now I’ve 
really got away, I’m so glad I didn’t take it. 
I’ve got plenty without, of course, and it gives 
me the money for you. ’ ’ 

Barbie didn’t suggest that “next to noth- 
ing” must be rather a small sum. No matter 
how small for a beginning; and it was the very 
“little” that, as she had learned, did the sure 
counting up. 

“Do you think it will really do any good, 
Bab?” she asked with a half flush, as she passed 
over the solitary coin. 

“Of course it will ! It will just get cambric 
enough for a scrap-book. Fanny thinks I ’d bet- 
ter have one apiece ready for the club for to- 



Good-Times Girls. Page 339. 



AN UNWELCOME) VISITOR. 339 

morrow. It wont be any too many to send, and 
we’ll all want something to do. Have you 
found any pictures to bring? Old ‘Harper’s 
Weeklies ’ have beauties sometimes, and of 
course colored ones will be better still.” 

‘ ‘ I could bring some of my old Christmas 
cards,” said Rose hesitatingly; “I have hosts 
of them, with Easter and New Year’s and the 
rest; but I do think it’s rather nice to keep 
those things.” 

“Yes, you do get attached to them, but per- 
haps you’ll find a few you don’t care so very 
much for; and there are always more coming in, 
you know.” 

“That’s true,” said Rose reflectively. “But 
I ’ll tell you where I saw the prettiest picture of 
all, just now as I came by the Bon Marche. The 
window had Mam’selle’s daintiest in it, and 
there, in the midst of everything, that little Vio- 
let had crawled, with her face in a picture-frame 
of all those things, and just nodding and smiling 
to every one that went by! She’s the dearest 
little scrap! I just seem to want to seize her 
whenever I come near!” 

Mam’selle seemed to have the same impulse, 
at least just now. The dusk was gathering as 
Rose still sat with Barbie, and the hours for cus- 
tomers at the Bon Marchd were for the most part 


340 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

over. It was only now and then that any one 
dropped in after tea; Mam’selle did not care to 
have them, and Violet knew that her “home- 
time,” as Mam’selle called it, had come, when 
the curtain of the shop-window was put down 
half way, and the lamp was lighted on the table 
of the inner room. 

It was a cosey place behind that pretty por- 
tiere. There was a tiny fireplace and grate, and 
since the September evenings were setting in, 
there was always a dancing little blaze that 
lighted up everything till the lamp seemed to be 
of no use, and then flickered and paled, only to 
start up again with another bit of wood thrown 
on. Then there was the sofa, where Miss Stacy’s 
usual rest had been changed into that terrible 
shock on the day she pulled away the pieces of 
chintz and found what that “wicked woman” 
had forgotten to take away; and there was a 
graceful, blue-lined work-basket, that was get- 
ting into the way of holding little stockings that 
were waiting for a stitch ; and there was a round 
supper-table with plates and cups for two. 

And the frolics weren’t all in the fireplace. 
Mam’selle and Violet had the merriest ones every 
night after the tea-table was cleared away. And 
then, behind a second portiere, there was a bed 
as white as snow, where dreams floated over 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 


341 


Violet in a very few moments after the pillow 
was touched, and where her golden toss of curls 
and sleeping face seemed to Mam’selle the most 
precious thing, if not the most beautiful, the 
world could produce. 

“Yes, you are pr-^-cious !” she said this 
evening, as she caught her up for the last good- 
night. “Ah, but my life would be desolate had 
I not you. Ah, mais c'est merveilleux /’ ’ 

Violet’s dreams were no farther away than 
usual, and Mam’selle, with rather a lingering 
look, turned to the table where the shaded lamp 
and the work-basket with the little stockings 
stood. She hummed a gay song as she took it 
up; the rooms seemed to hold so much happi- 
ness, and it was so dear and so wonderful to have 
some one to cherish again. She held the stock- 
ing up and looked at it and laughed. To think 
of her having a little child like that to take 
stitches for ! 

And there would be more and more stitches 
to take for Violet, too, as every six months came 
round. This very moment, in fact, she ought to 
make a beginning; there was her whole winter’s 
outfit to be thought of, and Mam’selle’s fingers 
must do it all. What if there wasn’t quite as 
much time left for the customers’ work that 
evening was the only real opportunity to do, and 


342 the good-times girls. 

for the bits of knitting and fancy-work that 
crowded in then and helped to fill the show- 
case and make the profits count up? She should 
find some way to manage; there would surely 
be enough for Violet and herself. Why else 
should the good God have sent her, to make her 
heart over -r-run? 

She started, and dropped the stocking into 
the basket again. The shop-door was opening, 
there was a customer coming in. 

And it was a man’s step, too. How very 
strange. It was seldom that such a visitor came 
to the Bon Marche even by daylight, but at 
night never. It was some messenger, of course; 
but — and Mam’selle opened the portiere, and 
came through with a little flutter in her throat. 
She wished people would think of what was 
wanted at a little earlier hour. 

It was a young man ; she could see that at a 
glance, though he had his shoulder half turned 
to her and his face was looking away. His hat 
was over his eyes, too, but still— could it be some 
one that she knew? 

She slipped in behind the counter, and her 
visitor faced her suddenly, and looked at her out 
of quick, dark eyes. 

“So I find you in, Marie,” he said in a low, 
cool tone. 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 343 

Mam’selle caught the edge of the counter 
with her pretty hand. 

“Henri!” she said, with a slow catching of 
her breath. 

Her visitor laughed. 

“Is it, then, too strange a thing when a bro- 
ther returns home — when he thinks of the sis- 
ter he has not seen for years, and wishes to meet 
her again ?’ ’ 

“No,” said Mam’selle, recovering herself; 
“it is not too strange, but is not, of course, ex- 
pected if no message comes. It is a surprise.” 

He laughed again. He would not say that he 
knew the surprise to be an unpleasant one, but 
the laugh said it and Mam’selle understood. 

“You must come inside and sit down,” she 
said. “We shall find a fire in the grate, and the 
evening is cold.” 

He looked at her curiously and followed her 
to the inner room. It was strange to see her mov- 
ing about alone ; he had scarcely ever seen her 
without Heloise at her side. 

“I shall throw on a fresh billet,” Mam’selle 
said as she stirred the fire. “And, perhaps,” she 
added suddenly, as her glance fell upon her tiny 
tea-kettle, and her thoughts seemed to rouse, “you 
will take some refreshment? You will allow me 
to prepare a little for you?” 


344 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“No, no; that is not what I wish,” he said 
quietly, his eyes still fixed upon her as she moved 
about. 

That was not what he wished ! He wished, 
then, something else. What was it? Where had 
he come from, and why had he come at all ? She 
had not thought he would ever come. It was so 
many years now that he had kept away. He had 
gone into the evil followings that he liked, she 
had not known where. She had not even known 
whether he was alive. And the years when he 
had been at home, long ago, had been so dark; 
there had been always trouble made. What gave 
her such a strange feeling that trouble must be 
coming with him again? 

She threw on her little billet of wood and the 
sparks flew in a shower. “Now we will be com- 
fortable,” she said as she turned and sat down. 
“Is it long since you returned? And are you 
quite well ?” 

He did not answer, but gave her another slow, 
curious look. 

“You have everything to yourself here,” he 
said quietly at last. “ That is luxurious. You 
have good rooms, and a profitable business, all 
your own.” 

A white look of pain changed Mam’selle’s 
face in a flash. 


AN unwelcome: VISITOR. 


345 


“ Henri, are you speaking of Heloise? The 
business is small, smaller than ever since she is 
gone; but you know I would a hundred times — 
no, a thousand times — thank God if there were 
some one to share !” 

“You would? You are quite sure? That is 
fortunate, since it is the very thing of which I 
wish to speak.” 

Mam’selle looked at him out of blank eyes. 
What was he talking of? 

“ I do not understand you, ’ ’ she said. 

Henri laughed. 

“It is strange it should not occur to you,” he 
said. “I think it was a little patrimony with 
which Heloise took a fancy to establish this busi- 
ness of yours, whether small or great. One-third 
of that patrimony, if you recollect, was mine, and 
since Heloise no longer has a claim, more than a 
third.” 

Mam’selle had risen and was standing motion- 
less, with hands folded before her and expression 
slowly gathering in her eyes. First bewilder- 
ment, then amazement, then burning scorn and 
indignation. 

“Yours! You have a claim! You who 
wasted and squandered until the portion left for 
us was barely enough for life, even by adding 
toil and carefulness to make it out! You who 


346 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

disappeared and left us, never asking if we need- 
ed help when our home was taken away, never 
letting us know if you were alive, until, when we 
felt sure you were never coming, we gathered up 
the little that was left and tried to live ! And 
now you, a strong man, come back to one weak 
woman fighting the world, and ask for half of all 
she has to stand upon !” 

Henri looked at her with a smile just showing 
about his mouth. 

“You are eloquent, ’ 5 he said. * ‘ But that does 
not especially interest me just now. It is my 
claim that I wish to give attention to to-night. ’ ’ 

Mam’selle still stood motionless, gazing at 
him where he sat. Yes, he was young still ; he 
was handsome still, and the look of the gentle- 
man had not worn away yet. But her heart 
shrank back within her; she wished she need not 
see him— need not know he was there. She had 
thought she never should see him again; she had 
tried to bury and forget all the old bitter memo- 
ries, and now, one look into his face was bringing 
them back with a whirl, and keener and more 
miserable even than when they were fresh. 

And yet, what could she say? Shame as it 
ought to be to him to press a “claim ” on the lit- 
tle family wreck, possibly he had a right to do so 
if he chose. 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 347 

“What is it, then, that you wish to say?” she 
asked slowly at last. “You see plainly -that I 
hear. ’ ’ 

He half closed his eyes, as if to fix a keener 
glance on her face. 

“It does not seem to require explanation,” he 
replied. “Since there is money of mine in your 
business, I should like it repaid, or a share in the 
profits credited to me instead. It can be as you 
prefer; either arrangement will be satisfactory to 
me.” 

Mam’selle drew a quick breath, and her eyes 
quivered as they still held, as if fascinated, to 
his. 

“ But — it is impossible ! There would be 
nothing left ! There is only enough for one ! 
Hardly that !” 

Henri laughed again, a mocking laugh this 
time. 

“ How is it, then, that I hear you are amusing 
yourself by undertaking the expense of a stran- 
ger’s child? There must certainly be two to pro- 
vide for. In that case I should prefer keeping 
the profits of so good a business to ourselves.” 

Mam’selle felt her strength vanishing away. 
She turned; yes, Violet! There was not very 
much to share, that was true ; how could she 
alone earn what she and Hdloise together had 


348 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

earned? But she had determined there should 
be enough for Violet ! She would work earlier, 
later, she would deny herself; but now ! 

“Yes, be seated,” said Henri quietly. “That 
is much better. That will give you leisure to 
decide which method you will pursue.” 

Mam’selle felt a tremor run through her limbs. 
Did this mean giving up Violet? But she must 
do right. It would be better to lose Violet than 
to feel that the good God was no longer near. 
And yet, she had thought Violet the token above 
all others of his being close by ! 

‘ 4 Are you ready ?’ ’ asked Henri. 4 4 1 have no 
more time to spare. ’ ’ 

Her eyes had closed for a moment, but she 
lifted them suddenly to him again. 

“I must do right,” she answered. 44 If some- 
thing is yours, it is yours. But you do not insist — 
you surely cannot insist — that you will take it 
away ! My heart was desolate, and God sent me 
this little one to make it sing with joy. I cannot 
give her even the trifle she requires, and give you 
what you demand.” 

44 1 demand nothing,” he answered, with a 
gesture and a slight shrug. “There is money 
belonging to me, and I take it; that is all. You 
may give me every three months a certain por- 
tion if you please, and in a year — in two years, 


an unwelcome visitor. 349 

if you desire very much — the payment shall be 
complete. In the meantime I shall not trouble 
you with my presence. If your remittances are 
prompt I shall have the honor to leave you quite 
alone. ’ ’ 

A great melting seized upon Mam’selle’s heart, 
and she stretched out her arms to him with a lit- 
tle cry. 

“Henri ! my brother ! Do not go away into 
evil things. Can you not begin again ? I would 
love you — but — you would not care for it ?’ ’ 

The mocking look had filled his face as he 
listened, and she broke off suddenly. 

“Do not disturb yourself,” he said, rising. 
“I will see you again at the end of the three 
months. That will be quite as often, probably, 
as you would find pleasure in my return.” 

The portiere opened and fell back again, his 
step sounded along the floor of the little shop, 
and he was gone. 


35 ° 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MORE WORK FOR THE CLUB. 

“The Good-Times Girls” were fluttering 
about busily the next day. Somehow things do 
seem to have a way of finding themselves put off 
to the last minute, even where the best intentions 
exist, and the pictures for the scrap-books were 
not all hunted up when Saturday morning came. 
And, to tell the truth, prudent little Barbie had 
waited until the last moment for contributions 
was up before deciding how much money it was 
wise to expend on the material for the books. The 
plan was to fold the cambric in half a dozen 
sheets, of about eighteen inches square, stitch 
them together in the back, and then paste the 
pictures upon each page, decorating and illumi- 
nating as materials might allow and fancy sug- 
gest. 

But various little decisions must be made after 
all. There was a little opening for extravagance 
even here. 

Should the books be of silesia, instead of 
cambric? It was so much softer and prettier, 
and came in such delicate shades. Should a bit 


MORE WORK FOR THE CLUB. 351 

of narrow ribbon be drawn through where the 
stitching came, covering it, and tying in a jaunty 
bow? 

“You must decide, Fanny,” Barbie had said. 
“I’ll get the things this time, since you want 
me to, but I really think you are the one to do 
it at all other times. The treasurer keeps the 
money-box, but it’s only the committee who has 
a right to abstract. ’ ’ 

“Oh, don’t call me committee. Who ever 
heard of a committee of one? And I’m sure I 
don’t want to decide everything. Why can’t 
we just talk things over in a reasonable way?” 

‘ ‘ But some one must decide, for all that, and 
I ’m sure it’s more proper for you.” 

“Well, do put some one with me then ! And 
can’t we go down town together this morning, 
and see what the things will cost? You have 
money enough, at least?” 

“Oh, I am rich,” laughed Barbie. “I have 
whole dollars piling up. But that does n’t make 
any difference. We may want the money a great 
deal more for something else. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, dear ! I suppose we shall have to think 
of that; but let us go down, at any rate, and see 
what we can see.” 

They were soon on their way, and the discus- 
sion was settled by a compromise before the stores 


352 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


were reached. Silesia was softer and nicer, but 
the pictures would cover it nearly all, and the 
effect of the color was the important thing. So 
the cambric would do if they could get it in 
good colors, but the ribbon certainly would be a 
“stroke,” and give an air to the whole thing. 

“Fet’s get it at Mam’selle’s,” said Fanny 
suddenly. “I know it’s always a good deed to 
make Mam’selle think sales are growing brisk, 
and even if a bit of ribbon is only a little nothing, 
you can’t say a word, after all that’s been said 
about trifles counting up. ’ ’ 

Barbie laughed. 

‘ ‘ Come then ; ribbon it shall be. ’ ’ 

They opened the door of the Bon Marchd and 
stepped in. Mam’selle was not behind the coun- 
ter, and Violet was nowhere to be seen. 

“Why, where are they?” asked Fanny, but 
at that moment the portiere opened and Mam’- 
selle glided into the shop. At least — yes, it was 
Mam’selle — it was her figure certainly, and her 
dainty collar and cuffs were there, and her pretty 
way of turning her head. But the face was so 
still and wdiite; there was no smile, and her eyes 
looked at her customers as if she scarcely saw 
they were there. 

“What can I serve you to?” she asked me- 
chanically, as she took her place. 


MORE WORK FOR THE CLUB. 


353 


‘ ‘ Only a little ribbon, ’ ’ Fanny said ; ‘ ‘ narrow, 
in different shades. ’ ’ 

Mam’selle drew down a box and placed it on 
the counter, and suddenly rousing herself, as she 
did so, looked into their faces with a smile. 

“Yes, it is a fine morning,” she said hasti- 
ly, as if they had spoken of it first. “What col- 
ors will you have ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Fight blue and pink ; and we want a cream 
color or an old gold, don’t we, Bab?” 

They were soon chosen, and Mam’selle smiled 
again; but the smiles were so constrained that it 
did not seem to be Mam’selle at all. 

Fanny took up her package and turned to go, 
but it was too much ! 

“What is it?” she broke out suddenly, turn- 
ing back towards Mam’selle. “Something is the 
matter! Nothing has happened to Violet, I 
hope?” 

Mam’selle hesitated, and then threw out her 
hands with a wild little gesture and a low cry. 

“Take her away! Take her away!” she 
exclaimed. “I want to send her somewhere — 
somewhere away from me ! Do you know any- 
where she could go, any one who would wish 
the child?” 

“Away!” echoed Fanny, half terrified; “away 
from you ! Barbie, what can she mean?” 

23 


Good-Times Girls. 


354 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 


But Mam’selle had vanished out of sight. 
She had slipped away behind the curtain again, 
and following her was not to be thought of ; they 
could not do that. 

They went out hastily. 

“I’m going straight home to tell Lou,” ex- 
claimed Fanny excitedly. “She always knows 
all about Mam’selle.” 

“But we must do the rest of our errands; we 
must n’ t forget those. ’ 5 

‘ ( Then do let us hurry ! Lou will put on her 
hat and be down here in five minutes, I know. 
I wonder if that dreadful woman that left Violet 
can have turned up again? What else could 
make Mam’selle want to send Violet away?” 

Fanny was quite right, and a very few mo- 
ments after they returned saw Miss Stacy walk- 
ing swiftly down the street, with her head erect, 
and her eyes seeming to sweep in everything 
that lay near. That was the way she always 
walked if there was any excitement, and her 
energy was coming to the rescue to see what 
it was all about. 

“Do stay till she comes back, Barbie,” Fan- 
ny said. ‘ ‘ Come and see where I have my 
plants, and tell me if you think they’re all 
right.” 

It was longer than they had anticipated be- 


MORE WORK FOR THE CLUB. 355 

fore Miss Stacy returned, but Fanny caught sight 
of her swooping round the corner at last. 

“ There she comes ! I know by the way that 
finely-cut Roman of hers sniffs the air that in- 
dignation is uppermost in her soul ! Who can she 
be angry with? It must be the woman who for- 
got Violet. Lou always said she’d come back.” 

But it could not be “the woman,” judging 
from Miss Lou’s first exclamation as she dropped 
into a chair. 

“ He’s a brute !” 

Fanny gazed from her sister to Barbie, and 
back again, bewildered and blank. 

“ He? Who in this world that can be spoken 
of as ‘he’ can have anything to do with poor 
little Mam’selle?” 

“Unfortunately there is some one who has, 
or can have, a great deal to do with her,” an- 
swered Miss Lou, and she proceeded to lay the 
story of the preceding evening before them, in 
the very concise and accentuated manner which 
she had quite at her command when occasion re- 
quired. 

“But he can’t really mean it!” exclaimed 
Fanny, with horror and incredulity mingled in 
her face. “But he wouldn’t really do it! He 
couldn’t! A strong man, and after he had 
wasted his real share once !” 


356 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“He means it,” said Miss Lou quietly. “He 
will certainly do it. And Mam’selle means what 
she says, too, when she talks of sending Violet 
away. She says she will never keep her if 
she cannot provide properly for her, and every 
penny will have to be counted now. ’ ’ 

“But Violet is so little ! What can it cost to 
keep her !” 

“Violet is three or four; she will be five or 
six before the two years are out, and no child can 
be comfortably clothed without money and time. 
Mam’selle will not have one dime to spare, or 
one hour’s time that she can take from custom- 
work, if custom-work she can get. We shall all 
have to rouse up and patronize her. Of course 
we can have work done there as well as any- 
where else. I only wonder we haven’t thought 
more of it before. ’ ’ 

“But Violet! She can’t let her go! Can’t 
some one do something about it? Barbie, how 
still you are. How you can keep up that calm- 
ness of yours! I don’t believe ’t would forsake 
you if the world was on fire. Can’t you think 
of somebody that could help?” 

“I was thinking,” answered Barbie slowly; 
“I don’t know, of course, but I was thinking 
that, possibly, ‘The Good-Times Girls’ might.” 

“‘The Good-Times Girls,’ Barbie!” cried 


MORE WORK FOR THE CLUB. 357 

Fanny, almost with, a little scream. “‘The 
Good-Times Girls’ make all the clothes, every- 
thing, for a child like Violet for a year ! Think 
of the work — only think of the work — the trouble 
it would be !” 

“Yes,” said Barbie quietly; “I do.” 

Fanny looked at her with eyes of stupefaction 
for a moment more; but they slowly lighted up 
again with a new idea, and a gleam of delight 
and satisfaction shone out of them suddenly at 
last. 

“But — but,” she said, with a start towards 
Barbie where she sat, “how perfectly, absolutely 
splendid it would be, if we could !” 


35 $ 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAL-BOOKS. 

The question whether they “ could’ ’ almost 
put the hospital-books out of sight for the first 
half-hour of the meeting that afternoon. The 
story of Mam’selle’s trouble was poured out to 
the club in what Bee called “half a dozen 
breaths,” with Barbie’s suggestion added in one 
more. The club was alive and excited in a mo- 
ment. Of course they could ! Of course they 
would ! Only, how could they, and how should 
they, and could they at all ? 

“If it had only come in summer !” Bee groan- 
ed, with a lengthened face. “But here’s the 
very last week of holidays, and the school year 
beginning next week. There never ’ll be a min- 
ute but Saturdays after this for the club.” 

“But if a club of six work one afternoon in 
the week, isn’t that the same as if one girl work- 
ed six?” asked Barbie quietly. 

Bee made a little pucker of her mouth. 

“ Don’t ask me arithmetic till school begins!” 
she said. “ But for all that, wont the club have 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAL-BOOKS. 359 

other things to do that will have to come in 
somewhere in these precious afternoons ?’ ’ 

4 1 But I say the best way to find out is to 
try, ’ ’ came in another voice. 

“Only I don’t see how we can try without 
committing ourselves to go on,” answered pru- 
dent Barbie again. 

The countenances of the club grew serious. 
Barbie was right; it would n’t do to make such 
an offer to Mam’selle unless they were sure of 
themselves. 

And then there were the materials. Would 
that “pinch-off purse” ever clothe a real live 
(four-year-old) child properly, much less would it 
do that and leave a cent over for other things? 

44 1 ’ll tell you what I think !” began Moppet 
vigorously; “I think there’ll have to be an- 
other purse. It will take two to float us at this 
rate. ’ ’ 

“Two!” cried the club. “Why isn’t one 
as good as two? What will the other be?” 

4 4 The other,” continued Moppet, radiant with 
a new idea, but solemn with its importance at 
the same time, “the other would have to be a 
4 tug-and-toil ’ purse!” 

Tug and toil ! The club gazed inquiringly 
at each other. 

“Do you mean to say, Mop, that we’ve got 


360 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

to work for it?” asked Helen suddenly at last. 
“You may as well speak out square if that ’s it.” 

“Yes, that is it, then. I don’t think we can 
ever have enough any other way. The “pinch- 
off’ ’ is splendid, and we shall do quantities of nice 
things out of it, but it isn’t as if we had fortunes 
to pinch from. ’ ’ 

“But what could we ever do?” asked Fanny, 
with a feeling that the plot thickened, and that 
she was getting into deeper waters than she had 
planned by far. What would Lou say, what 
would she have said herself a month, ago to the 
idea of her being head of a working club, and a 
club that began to talk about working for money 
as the climax of all! But still, had she ever really 
had such “good times” in all her life! 

“What could we do?” she repeated. “Girls 
can’t do anything but fancy-work, and who is 
going to buy that ?’ * 

The seriousness deepened; every new question 
seemed to present a new difficulty. There was 
no escaping from the plainness of that fact. 

“And I wonder,” began May hesitatingly, “I 
wonder if Mam’selle would like it, even if we 
could. Would she like to feel that other people 
were supporting her child ?’ ’ 

The club hesitated also a moment, and then 
gave May a round of applause. What she said 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAU-BOOKS. 361 

worried them terribly, but it was such a sensible 
idea for her. 

u Oh, don’t !” begged May, quite in distress. 
‘ ‘ 1 only happened to think of it. Ask Miss Bea- 
trice. ’ ’ 

“I think if this club don’t wish to find them- 
selves getting deeper and deeper till there’s no 
hope, they’d better ask her,” said Helen, and all 
eyes turned towards Beatrice’s chair. 

“Oh, but don’t talk of ‘no hope,’ ” she said 
gayly. “I see a great deal of hope, and the only 
danger I really see is that those books may not 
see themselves done this afternoon. I wonder if 
business and business discussions couldn’t go on 
at the same time. There are other things still to 
talk over this afternoon. ’ ’ 

“To be sure they can,” said the club, quite 
ashamed of itself, and work began in good ear- 
nest. Bach member had her package of pictures 
to produce, which was quite large, and another 
bundle which was quite small and very much 
rolled up, the latter containing the “mucilage 
bottle and brush” that each had been warned by 
the “committee” to bring, and a pair of scissors 
safely placed therewith. There were plenty of 
tables ready, and the pictures soon made a bril- 
liant array. 

“I never did know what to do with old cards,” 


362 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

began Helen, with her usual stir. “And I do 
think it was so stupid ! Why couldn’t it occur 
to any one of just moderate sense that they might 
be all new to some one else? And I just have 
showers of them at Christmas, Easter, and every- 
thing else, each one prettier than the last. Of 
course every one would have some she would n’ t 
like to give away, but still — ’ ’ 

Helen didn’t say “still” what, but it was 
easy to fill the sentence out. There were a good 
many that one did not care to keep, and a good 
many more that one could give away by thinking 
a little bit how much pleasure they might carry 
somewhere else. 

“I don’t think advertising cards are to be de- 
spised, either,” said another voice. “I found a 
quantity in a drawer, and some of them are pretty 
enough for any one. I ’m going to save them up 
after this for this very thing.” 

Then came pictures from Harper’s Weeklies, 
some large enough to cover the whole first page, 
some too large, many smaller, some cheery and 
droll, and some graceful and charming to far more 
critical eyes than they were destined to meet; 
pictures from old magazines, from old nursery- 
books, little engravings, colored pictures, pictures 
from old books, story-books, and portfolios — ev- 
erything. The club’s principal danger just now 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAE-BOOKS. 363 

seemed to be the temptation of comparing, ad- 
miring, and gazing in genuine surprise at the 
brilliant ‘ ‘ stock in trade. ’ ’ Then came a good 
deal of chatter about how large the books should 
be, whether each one should carry the same color 
through or whether the pages should be mixed, 
etc., etc., until for a moment Violet and her 
wants went almost out of mind. 

“What’s to be done with the edges of these 
things, Fanny?” asked Rose suddenly. “You 
can’t hem them, and you can’t have them all 
fraying out. ’ ’ 

“Pinked,” said Fanny sententiously, with the 
tip of a brush handle between her lips. 

“ Oh!” and the questioner subsided, and stitch- 
ing, cutting out, laying on, and grouping began. 

“ Now, Miss Beatrice; we’re all ready for you 
now,” said Moppet. “We’ll work like bees, if 
you ’ll only tell us what you think.” 

“All my thoughts?” laughed Beatrice, “or 
only so far as they relate to Violet.” 

“Violet ! Violet first !” 

“Well, then, I shall have to put in a few ifs 
and ands. The club hasn’t made any decision 
about the new purse, or whether fancy-work 
would be the best way to fill it, supposing it to 
exist. But I think we should have to make such 
a proposal to Mam’selle in a very delicate way, 


364 the good-times girls. 

and I thought of this. If you really should plan 
such great things that heavy capital would be 
called for, and should decide to work for part of 
it, what could you do better than to make a little 
bargain with Mam’selle something to this effect: 
that if she will take your work and sell it for 
you, you can afford to work for Violet in re- 
turn. ’ ’ 

There was an instant’s silence while the club 
were busy taking in the full meaning of what 
Beatrice had said, and then came a low, swift 
murmur of delight, and then a perfect scramble 
of exclamations of every kind, till Moppet’s voice 
was heard at last above the rest, calling for order 
to be restored. 

“Do wait, girls!” she said. “Of course we 
don’t see how Miss Beatrice ever thinks of such 
things, but that isn’t all. We haven’t voted for 
the ‘ tug-and-toil purse ’ yet. Do vote for it, can’ t 
you, so that we can decide.” 

“Hadn’t we better ‘decide’ first?” asked 
Fanny, rather nervously. “There wont be so 
very much time, you know. There really wont.” 

The Good-Times Girls instinctively looked at 
Barbie. Barbie had no more time than the rest 
of them, but they all knew her way of saving odd 
minutes and the difference that it made. 

“I think if we did n’t promise more than one 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAL-BOOKS. 365 

article a month made for the club, we should find 
that we could catch the time, ’ ’ she said, 

“Of course we could,” came in Bee’s little 
buzz. “Why, if we just kept a spool of thread 
in our pockets, and took it out whenever we got 
together chattering, you all know how that would 
count up.” 

“ Or,” said Beatrice, “ I don’t see why one of 
your regular club afternoons couldn’t be spared 
for that. We may not always be sure of finding 
a room or even a hospital to furnish for your 
amusement, you know. You may find time hang- 
ing heavy on your hands.” 

The club laughed; it was rather amusing to 
talk of time hanging heavy when prospects and 
plans seemed thickening as they were just now. 

“ But how much will it cost to dress Violet?” 
came in an uneasy voice. “ Don’t you think we 
ought to know?” 

“ I don’t think we should have to buy every- 
thing,” answered Barbie, with her “calmness” 
in full force. “I think a club that is willing to 
work can’t have any false pride; and if it hasn’t, 
a good many things will be presented to it by de- 
grees as people find out. And I’m sure we could 
hunt up a good many more at home. There are 
so many odd little bits and pieces, or really nice 
parts of large things that have been worn. You 


366 THIS GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

surely wouldn’t want to spend money for mate- 
rials that we could get perfectly well without” 

Silence again. The club was considering the 
latter part of Barbie’s speech. 

‘ ‘ A Daniel ! A real absolute Daniel come to 
judgment !” whispered Bee, and then they sud- 
denly fell back to the first half of what their 
Daniel had had to say. 

“But, Barbie, not even your serene loftiness 
can really mean to suggest letting people give the 
club things ! How would they ever know we 
needed them even, if we did n’t say so?” 

“Well, say so, then. I’m sure I don’t see 
why not. I mean, of course, if we really find 
more ways of doing good and giving pleasure 
than we have the means for. Perhaps we sha’ n’t 
be so fortunate; but if we should be, why there 
are always people that have quantities of nice bits 
of materials that they’d be delighted to have 
somebody use up, if they knew who could and 
would. I don’t see why we should determine to 
keep all the ‘good times’ to ourselves, if any one 
else should really want such a little share as 
that. ’ ’ 

There was no resisting Barbie; there never 
was. The club had found that out long ago. 
She was always right, and they might as well 
give up first as last. They did it now, once 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAL-BOOKS. 36 7 

more with mingled moans of reluctance and mur- 
murs of applause. 

“And what will you call that purse, if you 
please?” asked Bee, with her eyes rolled up and 
her mouth drawn down. 

Barbie laughed. She wouldn’t make any 
more suggestions, she said. 

“Then how would scrap bag do? No, a bag 
would never hold enough. A scrap drawer?” 
said Bee. 

“That’s it! Let’s have it a drawer while 
we’re about it,” cried the general voice. “Con- 
trary minds ! It ’s a vote.” 

Quietness settled down at last, and fingers 
made haste at their work. The pages of the 
hospital-books were fast filling up, and one pair 
of eyes after another took a sidewise glance here, 
and an arm’s length one there, puzzled to decide 
how they had got up such a charming effect. 

“I never thought they’d be half so pretty. 
Now when those edges are pinked!” exclaimed 
Rose, holding hers off for a good look. Barbie 
turned a quiet glance that way. Yes, Rose’s 
book was as full and as brilliant as anybody’s, 
and Barbie caught sight of two or three Christ- 
mas cards that any one might have liked to keep. 
The club had never known Rose give away as 
much as she seemed to give now. 


368 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“But — Miss Beatrice was going to read to 
us to-day,” exclaimed somebody suddenly, with 
a little gasp. 

Beatrice laughed. 

“I’ve been fairly crowded out,” she said. 
“I don’t see where the moment has been. I 
had something all ready, and something that I 
think delightful, but just see where the hands of 
that clock point. And there are one or two 
things to talk about yet, if you’ll let me take 
my turn at suggesting. ’ ’ 

“Oh, do !” begged the general voice. 

“Well, then, how many of you know who 
that poor, unfortunate little bit of humanity is 
whose back is so crooked and whose soul has 
such a passion for flowers, Midge Burlock? her 
father is a hand in the mills. Didn’t some of 
you see her here one day?” 

Yes, Helen and Fanny saw her coming out of 
the gate, that day of her first wonderful coming 
in. And Fanny saw her pass every Sunday, 
May knew her at school, and in one way or an- 
other all had an idea who she was. Midge’s 
face and figure were not easily passed by or for- 
gotten, especially when she wore the old shawl. 

“She is a strange little soul, but there is as 
intense and sensitive a life hidden behind those 
brown eyes as I ever knew,” and Beatrice went 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAU-BOOKS. 369 

on to tell the club of her two visits from Midge 
and what she had found out about her. £ 1 Is n’ t 
she queer !’ ’ “ Is n’ t she interesting ! 1 1 I ’ ve seen 

her looking at the flowers in here as if she’d 
devour them with her eyes.” “ Hasn’t she any 
flowers at all of her own?” were the various 
responses that flowed in. 

1 1 Only a tiny mignonette bed, I believe, and 
that must die before long. I thought perhaps 
you would like to give her some. ’ ’ 

“We !” 

“Yes, if you like. I don’t know any heart 
where happiness is quite as happy as in Midge’s, 
and if you want chances for 1 cups of cold water, ’ 
you can hardly take one where it will brim over 
as it will there. I want her to have something 
in her window this winter, but I haven’t sent 
Thorne; I ’ve been saving the pleasure for you.” 

“ But we don’t really know her.” 

“That’s the very thing. She knows more or 
less about you, I find, but she seems to look up 
to you in an awe-stricken way, as if the hem of 
your garments would n’ t stoop to brush by her. 
Suppose some of you manage to give her a nod 
and a smile as you go past, and another time a 
word or two, and if you get the ice broken by de- 
grees, manage to offer to bring a few flower-pots 
round ? She ’s a hungering little soul, and a lone- 

24 


Good-Times Girls. 


370 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

ly one, poor thing. She doesn’t seem to know 
it, because she makes such a feast of every crumb 
she picks up; but that would make carrying a 
few crumbs all the pleasanter to you.” 

“I’ll tell you,” broke in Helen with her 
usual rush. “If we do get acquainted and like 
her, let ’s make her a member of the club.” 

1 1 Helen ! Are you crazy ?’ ’ 

“No, I don’t think so. There were fisher- 
men among the disciples, and I don’t see why a 
fisherman is n’t as good as a mill-hand, if there ’s 
to be any comparison drawn. We’re going to 
have new members some time, of course, and 
that reminds me of Daisy. She’s in a genuine 
fidget about it. I do wish, girls, you ’d vote this 
minute whether she can come. ” 

“Do n’t mix us, ’ ’ began Bee. ‘ ‘ We have n’ t 
got head enough to vote for two candidates at 
once, and know which is which.” 

“Well, Daisy first then, do; for I must give 
her an answer the very next time she asks.” 

Daisy’s fate was soon settled by a full affirma- 
tive vote. Daisy could do a little of everything, 
and would be half a host. But Midge ! who 
knew really much about her, at the best ? 

“I think you had better feel your way a 
little,” Beatrice said. “Get as far as stocking 
her plant-window first, and see what you think. 


QUESTIONS AND HOSPITAE-BOOKS. 371 

I ’m not sure Midge would be happy really mix- 
ed up closely with you quite yet. Perhaps you 
could consider that the club has a flower depart- 
ment, and invite her to join that. Then when 
the time came for giving away flowers she could 
share. I think the old shawl would cover a 
heart nearly bursting with happiness then. But 
now I want to ask you one thing more. Is that 
question about a motto coming any nearer to a 
decision yet?” 

No, it didn’t seem so. No one had got at 
anything satisfactory, though various thoughts 
had evidently been floating about. 

“I don’t see how we can have a motto till 
we know what we’re doing,” some one said. 
“We’re just having a good time, that’s all, first 
in one way and then in another; and we couldn’t 
make ‘ good times ’ a motto, of course. ’ ’ 

“If we knew what our good times are ex- 
actly made of,” Fanny began, with the feeling 
that it was all a puzzle coming back in full force. 
Somehow it had been a puzzle ever since she 
first talked about a “good-times” club. “I ’in 
sure it isn’t always the most amusing thing to 
work, and what makes it a good time now I do 
wish I knew. I wish any one could tell me, 
once for all !” She turned suddenly to Barbie. 
“Come, Barbie, you always know!” 


37 * 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


Barbie flushed a little. 

“Isn’t it because we are getting our own 
pleasure by trying to give it to others?” she said. 
“And perhaps — I don’t know — but I suppose if 
we can do that, it pleases One other, too.” 

There was no answer for a moment, and then 
Bee couldn’t sit still. 

“You’ve hit it exactly, Bab, in the first half 
of what you said. That is the way to have the 
most and the best of a good time. But I don’t 
believe many of us are thinking about the 1 One 
other,’ and if we’re not, there’s no use in pre- 
tending; and it wouldn’t be right to pretend, if 
w T e could.” 

“But wont you think about Him, then?” 
asked Beatrice quickly; “if only to please me, 
think of what he says about cups of cold water 
given in his name, about being thirsty, and 
our giving him to drink ! We, girls ! Only in 
such tiny cups as we are able to give ! And 
when he gives whole fountains to us! You’ll 
find it very, very sweet to do, if you try.” 


SUNSET CUOUDS. 


373 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

SUNSET CUOUDS. 

Saturday night gathered in with just such 
a great bank of crimson clouds as on the evening 
when Rob and Mysie sat rejoicing that Squire 
Mountford had come too late to trouble Tom. It 
lighted up the windows of the Landry-Road cot- 
tage with the same red glow, and seemed to Rob 
and Mysie the same mockery of the dull, heavy 
sinking at their hearts. When Tom died it was 
the falling of a blow that they had seen coming 
slowly near; it was agony, but there was some- 
thing to comfort themselves with, for Tom’s 
sake. This time they had been watching and 
yet refusing to believe, just as they did before, 
but there was no comfort, none ! 

“I telt ye it wouldna come to this, Rab,” 
Mysie said, reaching out a hand and laying it 
pityingly on Rob’s poor knotted one. “I telt 
ye it wouldna, but the Lord forgie me now if it 
was a lee ! I saw it, I saw it getting plainer and 
plainer before my eye, but I wouldna confess; I 
thought I could save you pain, and it would be 
like really keeping it off. But I couldna avail, 


374 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


Rab ! I couldna keep it away ; the Lord was the 
only one who could, and he didna /’ ’ 

Rob looked up slowly into Mysie’ s face. 

u But he is vera pitifu’ and o’ tender mercy ! 
Never tell me he isna that, Mysie ! And if it 
has come true that the almshouse is the place 
he’s decreein’ for our lives to go out, maybe 
he ’ll be nearer us there than before even. We ’re 
not the first bairns o’ his he’s seen reason to 
greet over for deein’ poor and alone; but he has 
his ain way in it all, Mysie. Surely he has his 
ain way, and wisdom o’ his ain.” 

Mysie pressed back a great choking that was 
coming up in her throat. She would not tell 
Rob that it was all a mockery and an empty 
sound — what he was comforting her with ! It 
had been many a long day now that she could 
not say u pitifu’ and of tender mercy;” she had 
thought so once, but how could she think so any 
more? 

‘ 1 Rab, ’ ’ she said suddenly, 1 1 since we are go- 
ing to the almshouse, wouldna ye call it better 
to go and be done. The squire telt us to bide 
a month or sae, but it drags me to feel the roof 
over our heads is charity frae him. I’d sooner 
be gone, since the going lies near; it will be 
sooner past, and maybe we’ll get a settled feel- 
ing some day, after all.” 


SUNSET CEOUDS. 


375 


Rob shook his head. 

“We’ll never get that, Mysie, in that dread- 
ful’ place. But the Lord’ll gie us strength to 
bear it there, and I’m like you, I’d sooner be 
gane. ’ ’ 

4 4 Shall we say Monday, then ?’ ’ Mysie asked, 
with the gulp in her throat coming higher than 
before. 

“ Yes, we’ll say Monday,” said Rob slowly. 
“Only, till Monday come, Mysie, we ’ll no think 
about it; let it stand afar off till then.” 

Mysie did not answer a word. She sat, still 
holding Rob’s hand, and rocking slowly back 
and forth in her creaking little chair, a queer old 
chair, with arms and a hollow back, that Tom 
had painted for her, black with yellow stripes 
and rings. 

“ Can ye no sing a hymn, Mysie?” said Rob 
at last. 

Poor Mysie ! She had never let Rob turn to 
her for comfort in vain before. She had given it 
to him, steady and strong, w T hen her own heart 
was breaking many a time, and she did not know 
she was going to fail of doing it to-night. She 
only broke down suddenly, with a low, bursting 
cry like a child’s. 

“O, Rab, Rab, I canna ! Not if I were to 
dee, Rab, I canna sing.” 


376 the: good-times girds. 

Rob’s eyes bad been on her face from the 
first; they always watched her with a pleading 
look when trouble came, but they filled with 
wonder and distress now. 

“ Hech, Mysie girl, I never saw ye like 
this ! Maybe it willna be so bad when once the 
move’s made. And the L,ord will go before *ns; 
he’ll no be too proud. One place or another 
must be alike to him.” 


the; BEST “GOOD TIME.” 


377 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE BEST u GOOD TIME.” 

The great crags of sunset clouds suddenly 
started up to a fresh fervor of crimson and gold, 
and then dimmed and deepened into purple and 
amber shades. The red glow had fallen on the 
windows of the Bon Marche as well as on those 
through which Rob and Mysie looked; they had 
been gleaming and glittering, and the little shop 
seemed warm and full of a bright, joyous light. 
The portiere was parted slightly, and the red 
light and the warmth seemed to reach through, 
and figures could be seen flitting about inside, 
and voices were chatting and laughing, with 
Violet’s merriest tones thrown in. And then 
one of the figures stooped and picked Violet up 
for a hug, and Mam’selle threw her arms round 
the neck of the other, and then the portiere 
opened and Fanny and Bab came out. The club 
had determined that Saturday night must n’t set 
in, and Sunday certainly mustn’t pass, with poor 
little Mam’selle carrying such a burden on her 
heart. That is to say, not if anything “The 
Good-Times Girls” could propose might lift it 


378 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

off ; and Fanny and Barbie bad been deputed to 
go and see what could be done. 

They opened the shop-door now, and came 
out, and one glance into their faces was enough 
to decide what their success had been ; the sunset- 
sky itself wasn’t lighted up with a finer glow. 

“Barbie,” Fanny was saying, with a little 
catch at Barbie’s arm, “did you suppose you ever 
in all your life could have such a ‘ good time ’ as 
this? When the white, stony look began to go 
out of Mam’selle’s face, and when her eyes began 
to shine again with that sudden flash, after she 
believed what we meant, and when she caught 
up Violet with such a wild, close hug, and when 
she threw her arms round my neck ; and then 
when she began the old ‘Ah, que c'est merveilleuxP 
would you have missed it for any treat you ever 
had in your life?” 

“No,” said Barbie slowly, “I hardly think I 
would. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Perhaps you’ve done just such things before, 
but you know very well that I haven’t And 
then when she began to say something about the 
‘good God’ being so near, and about his having 
given her Violet for the second time, it gave me 
such a strange feeling ! Do you really suppose, 
Barbie, do you think it is possible, that he cares — 
that he is pleased?” 


THE BEST “GOOD TIME.” 379 

“To have us help Mam’selle? Of course I 
do. Did n’ t Christ say that doing for one of the 
least of his was doing for him ? And how do 
you suppose Miss Fou would feel if she saw some 
one help you out of great distress?” 

Fanny was silent. She did not feel quite 
ready to say so to Barbie, but how lovely it was 
in the Ford Christ to care so much ! And he was 
so lovely in all things ! At least, so people said 
who knew best. And he had done so much him- 
self to “help us out of distress;” and had even 
stooped to have our distresses laid upon him ! It 
would be pleasant — yes, it would be lovely — if 
the club should try to do things partly for his 
sake ! 


380 


TH^ good-times girds. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

MYRTLE’S WINDOW. 

The ‘ ‘ doing things ’ ’ was going to keep some 
one pretty busy, however, just now, at least; and 
though doing them seemed to belong especially to 
Saturdays, the seeing to them must come princi- 
pally through the week, and Fanny, as first in re- 
sponsibility, found her hands full. 

The Bon Marche was to be visited once 
more, for a most practical and business-like call, 
she thought, and the state of Violet’s wardrobe 
must be ascertained, to some extent, at least. 
Then there would be materials to see about, and 
a certain amount of work must be fitted and ready 
for the club before Saturday came. And if they 
were to have a scrap drawer, the sooner a nest- 
egg, at least, went into it, the better; and there 
were the books to get off to the. hospital, and 
whether that was the end of the list she did n’ t 
know. 

“But how am I ever going to begin?” she 
said to Miss Eou, who had listened to Fanny’s 
programme with amazement that she forced her- 
self to conceal, but that hardly let her credit her 


myrtle’s window. 


381 

own ears. Fanny! Was it actually Fanny' who 
was talking enthusiastically about the care of all 
those things? 

“How am I ever going to begin? I can’t go 
down to Mam’selle’s and ask her how many 
clothes Violet has, and how -many she needs; but 
how can I find out if I don’t ask her? I don’t 
know the first thing about a small child’s clothes; 
do you?” 

Miss Stacy smiled. The time since Fanny’s 
wardrobe could have been designated in that way, 
and had been her care, did not seem too far for 
memory to reach. 

“It is rather a complicated science,” she re- 
plied, “even if fashions did not overturn every- 
thing as often as they do. And I think asking 
Mam’selle would be a little delicate too. Why 
not go to the highest authority and ask Myrtle ? 
And as to quantity, Violet came in warm weather, 
without any trunk, so I fancy you ’re in no dan- 
ger of duplicating too much.” 

“Ask Myrtle! O Lou, that is the brightest 
of all ideas ! Of course Miss Myrtle will know !” 

There were not many minutes lost between 
the closing of the first day’s school that afternoon 
and Fanny’s speeding away towards Myrtle’s 
room : only enough to capture Barbie and get her 
to go in company, as staff-officer and support. 


382 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


“Wont it be a treat to get into that room and 
take a good look !” she said. “ I wonder if Miss 
Myrtle will be in the old chair.” 

Yes, there she was ; and the chair had the co- 
siest of corners between the end of Barbie’s table- 
spread and the corner of the old bureau ; and the 
vase on the table was crowding over with fresh 
flowers. Thorne had not failed to bring them 
every few days since the eventful morning in 
which he had had a share. 

“And Miss Myrtle looks as bright and fresh 
as the flowers ! I do believe she enjoys it !” was 
Fanny’s inward exclamation as she stepped in ; 
but it would never do to show she was thinking 
about the room. Modesty forbade that altogether, 
she thought. 

But Myrtle didn’t seem to agree with her. 
She came forward, with both hands outstretched, 
and drew the girls in. 

“Oh, why haven’t you came before to see 
how happy I am?” she said. 1 1 Do you see my 
dear little home? Took!” and she turned them 
slowly around, from one point~of view to another, 
and then, with a happy laugh, placed them on 
the lounge, each with a big pillow between her 
and the wall. 

“Now, isn’t this a pretty parlor? Do you 
know of any one who can sit and sew with 


myrtle’s window. 383 

pleasanter things to look at and think about 
than I?” 

Fanny did not answer a word. She sat still 
and heard Barbie going quietly on with exactly 
the right replies, while in her own brain a con- 
fused recollection of former days, novels, easy- 
chairs, and old ideas, with a sudden conscious- 
ness that a lifetime of them would n’ t equal the 
pleasure of this one half-hour, seemed to leave 
her quite dumb; she was thankful for once that 
Barbie was always cool. 

But this would never do. The business wo- 
man of the club, and with an important errand to 
do ! She roused herself to the requirement, and 
in a few moments Myrtle knew the whole story 
of Mam’selle, Violet, and the new plan of the 
club. 

“And we thought perhaps you’d advise us a 
little; we should be so much obliged. You know 
so much better than we do, of course,” Fanny 
w T ound up at last, after quite an eloquent setting 
forth of her case. 

“Advise you ! Indeed I will, but you must 
let me do more than that. You must just bring 
Violet round here any day you prefer, and we ’ll 
take the measures and get one or two little things 
cut and fitted at least. Now you mustn’t say 
No. You don’t want to give up too much of 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


384 

your pleasure to outsiders, of course, but really, 
for a beginning — you know it is so muck easier 
for me. Or, if you’d like it very muck better, 
one or two of tke others might come with you 
and baste while I cut and fit. And then after we 
once get it exactly, I can cut you a pattern that 
you can always use. And as to quantity and ma- 
terials, there will be the dresses, and the fall sack, 
and the winter coat, and — where’s my pencil? 
We’ll have it all in yards and inches even, if we 
can.” 

She crossed the room to find it, and Fanny 
stepped to the window near which the old rock- 
ing-chair stood. 

‘ 1 1 want to see what you have to look at all 
day,” she said. “What a dear little bit of lawn, 
and the old elm drooping over it waves and waves 
for ever, doesn’t it? I wish the other window 
was as nice.” 

“Don’t wish anything more for me,” laughed 
Myrtle. “I’m almost spoiled already. It ’s just 
the thing I need to get a glimpse of the old shed 
and our neighbor’s back-yard when I pass that 
window once in a while.” 

“I don’t believe you need it at all,” said 
Fanny rebelliously. “This one with the elm 
isn’t a bit too good for you. And it gives you a 
corner of the street too; only a corner, but enough 


MYRTLE’S window. 


385 

to show you people going by. That takes off the 
loneliness. And who can that be, that old couple, 
passing just now? Why — Barbie, look quick, 
before they are gone! Aren’t they the two old 
people we’ve always seen in their red arm-chairs 
at that little Landry-Road house ?’ ’ 

Barbie came. Yes ; there was no mistaking 
Mysie and Rob. 

‘ 1 Why, how queer to see them anywhere but 
inside that little porch! Where can they be go- 
ing, I wonder? They’d never come all that way 
on foot to amuse themselves. Would they, now, 
Bab?” 

Barbie did not answer. She had but one van- 
ishing glimpse of the two figures as they passed, 
but something in the outline gave her a quick 
feeling of pain — something in the stoop of Rob’s 
shoulders, and the quick way Mysie turned a look 
towards him, and then more hastily turned it 
away, dropping a step behind, and then suddenly 
pressing forward and keeping up. Where could 
they be going? Could there be anything wrong? 

“Could there be anything wrong?” Ah, poor 
Mysie ! If, she could only settle that terrible 
question in her own mind ! If she could only be 
sure, as Rob was, that it was all right ! 

But there was no time for asking herself ques- 
tions now. She had Rob’s heart to keep up; only 
^5 


Gool-Times Girls. 


336 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

would he ever believe her again when she tried 
to tell him things “wouldn’t be”? Hadn’t the 
worst come to the very worst now ? 

But she must try, for all that. “It’ll no be 
so vera bad, Rob,” she began. “It wunna, man. 
How should it? They’re tidy, comfortable folk 
that keep the place. I was telt that long syne. 
And kindly folk too. And they ’ll know it wasna 
our fault, Rob. They ’ll be sure o’ that.” 

“Yes, Mysie girl,” answered Rob gently. 
“ They ’ll be sure o’ that.” 

Why shouldn’t they be? They had heard 
about Tom and the other boys, and they could 
see Rob’s hands for themselves. 

Rob looked quietly down at them as he walked. 
Who would ever dream how much faithful, hard 
work they had done, to see them knotted and 
helpless as they were to-day ? 

But all that was neither here nor there; it was 
the long, tiresome walk that he had to do with 
now, and he plodded steadily along. They turned 
another corner, and then pushed on to another 
that did not even come in sight for a little time. 
Then round that, and the chimneys of the poor- 
house were in full view. Mysie felt her breath 
come with a quick gasp, and then leave her as if 
it would never come again. If she could only 
walk with her eyes shut, and never really see the 


MYRTLE’S WINDOW. 3 87 

house at all ! Would it not be enough to feel 
the doorstep under her feet when the moment 
came? 

But she must speak to Rob again; she had let 
him go on by himself too long. 

u It’s a brave square brick house, Rab,” she 
said. “There’ll be airy rooms somewhere in- 
side, and strong against winter wind.” 

Rob looked slowly up at it; it was all in plain 
sight now. 

“Yes,” he said quietly; “there’ll be com- 
fort in that. There’s mercy always mingled 
in the cup. Vera pitifu’ and o’ tender mercy 
He is.” 

They had come to the gate now, and Mysie 
hurried forward to get her own hand on it first, 
but Rob put her aside. 

“It’s my hands that have failed to keep you 
away frae here, Mysie lass,” he said, “an’ they 
must e’en bear the punishment o’ findin’ that the 
gate is o’ their ain openin’ at last.” 

As he swung it open, Fanny Stacy closed Myr- 
tle’s behind Barbie and herself. 

“And there ’s one thing more,” she said. “If 
we ’re to take those flowers to Midge, some of us 
must be starting the acquaintance pretty soon. I 
think I’ll try to get that out of Helen and Bee. 
Don’t you think they ’d be the best ones? Sup- 


388 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

pose we see Helen as we go by. She’ll be at 
home, I’m sure.” 

But Helen was not at home. Dainty was 
standing outside the gate of the Marston house, 
and Helen was in Beatrice’s room, seated on the 
low stool at her side and talking earnestly with a 
troubled look on her face. 

“I can’t bear to have it so,” she was saying. 
“I can’t bear to feel that I am just rendering 
back heartlessness where so much has been done 
for me. But what can I do? I can’t make my- 
self love any one. ’ ’ 

“Did you ‘make yourself’ love me?” 

“ You ! Make myself ! When you were so — 
oh, but I see what you mean, and that ’s the 
very thing that troubles me. I know the L,ord 
Christ is lovely beyond anything that we can 
think, and yet I don’t love him as you do, I 
know I don’t, and I don’t take such delight in 
doing things ‘ for his sake. ’ I never thought of 
such a thing, in fact. I supposed that was only 
for a few people that were ‘religious’ in some 
queer way. And now — do you suppose he would 
help me? If I only thought — if I only could 
think he would forgive it all, and help me, for- 
give it all, and change it all, to be just as he 
likes.” 

“Then trust him for it, dear. Ask him, and 


myrtle’s window. 389 

trust him. The very trusting will be sure to 
bring love — he knows that when he asks it of 
us — and you’ll feel the help coming beside. 
And there’s nothing sweeter, nothing dearer, 
than to ask him for what we want in our souls, 
and then to feel it stealing softly in. It is like 
feeling the touch of his hand, and how dear that 
hand grows you can never think till you try. 
Only open the door, and see how he will come 
in. Only offer him your heart, and see what a 
joyful, happy home he will make of it for him- 


39 ° 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

CHANNELS. 

The next meeting of the club was a most 
triumphant one. Violet had been escorted to 
Myrtle’s room by a body-guard of two, Fanny 
and Bee, Bee buzzing with all kinds of nonsense 
to cover the pleasure she felt, and Fanny silently 
wondering if any girl ever got such a delicious 
feeling out of doing something for some one else ! 
Or — was she doing it for some one else or for 
herself? She didn’t know, she gave it up. 
She only knew that the feeling of Violet’s tiny 
hand clinging to hers, .and the look in Mam’- 
selle’s face as they left the Bon Marche, made 
life seem something she had never really tried 
before. 

And then some strange, sudden thoughts came 
up about One who is always busy leading some 
needy one or some clinging one towards rest and 
beauty that he has bought to give to them again. 
Did he really delight in it so? Would he lead 
her? Would it really please him if she tried 
. to help some little one for his sake ? 

Myrtle’s fingers had seemed to have magic in 


CHANNELS. 


391 


them, for she had pretended to spend no time or 
trouble at all, and yet the club was supplied with 
more little garments, ready fitted, than they could 
make in two weeks; while instead of the “pat- 
terns” she had talked of giving them, she was 
insisting that sewing was enough for them, and 
that she was the only proper person to intrust 
with ‘ ‘ giving an air ’ ’ to things. 

And as for materials, it seemed as if the scrap 
drawer had hardly had a name before it began 
to overflow; actually before it had any shape or 
existence, gifts began to pour in from people who 
had heard: two or three yards of one piece of 
goods left over in making a dress, or a yard of 
another, just the thing to line something else, or 
an outside wrap that was still quite new when the 
suit it matched was worn out, or a sash -ribbon 
that had failed to match, or something else that 
had been outgrown. If this was the first sprink- 
ling that foretokened a shower, what would the 
latter rain be? 

“Rain!” echoed Daisy, when she heard the 
question asked. “ Deluge, I ’m afraid. I had no 
idea people had such perfect loads of things that 
they did n’t want, and that somebody might just 
as well have.” 

“Yes; the only difficulty seems to be to find 
a channel,” said a low, demure voice. 


392 


the: good-time;s girls. 


The club looked up. It was Bee, actually 
Bee, delivering herself of a sentence like that, 
with her eyes down-dropped on her work, and 
her mouth drawn into a serious little round o that 
was absurdity itself upon her. 

u A channel ! A channel ! That’s it precise- 
ly,” cried the club, “but who would ever dream 
of describing you as one of its banks! And a 
channel for a deluge, too. ’ ’ 

Bee’s face did not change. 

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t undertake to be a bank. 
There ’s a huge attic closet at Fanny Stacy’s that 
will be much more likely to hold. ’ ’ 

But the club only laughed again. A good, 
generous drawer would hold more than they could 
really believe would fall into their hands. There 
was no cause for anxiety quite yet, at least. 

“But has any one seen Midge ? That ’s what 
I am burning to know,” began Moppet, as she 
snapped off a thread. 

Yes, Helen had seen Midge twice; the first 
time just a little hob-nob over the fence, started 
in that cosey, capturing fashion Helen had; and 
the second time, just this very morning as she 
took Jim’s street on the way home after she and 
Dainty had brought Violet’s things up from Myr- 
tle’s to Beatrice’s room. 

‘ ‘ I thought I never should catch sight of her 


CHANNELS. 


393 


again,” Helen went on. “I liad passed half a 
dozen times, and once I got a nod through the 
window, but that was all. I didn’t want to 
make a ‘ dead set, ’ you know. I wanted to catch 
her in an easy, make-believe sort of way, for those 
great eyes of hers opened so wide and half ate 
me up at such a rate the first time, that I didn’t 
know what they’d do when I really told her, 
you know. I do think she is the strangest child. 
What does she say, Miss Beatrice, when she ac- 
tually gets up here?” 

“What did she say when you got * down 
there?” asked Beatrice, with a smile; “I be- 
lieve that’s what we’re most anxious to know.” 

“Oh, I never could tell. She didn’t say 
much, I believe; but she was just out there look- 
ing at that tiny mignonette-bed of hers as if 
she’d eat it up. It’s dying a little, for fall, you 
know, of course; and she had the queerest little 
flower-pot — green, with little dogs’ heads for 
handles — I can’t think where she ever got it; 
and she was taking up the thickest bunch of 
mignonette there was left and putting it in, as if 
it was a baby. So then I saw I had my chance, 
and I jumped out and went right inside the fence 
and began to talk.”. 

“And what did you say? That’s just what 
we want, ’ ’ came the chorus. 


394 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


“I — she,” began Helen, as if in great haste, 
and then suddenly stopped. “I wish some of 
the rest of you would go and offer things to 
Midge, and see if you can tell some one else 
just how it was,” she went on again, quite ex- 
citedly. “She ’s too much for me ! Only I told 
her how you had the flowers for her, and she 
could do as we did with them next winter, if she 
would . 5 ’ 

The club gave one quick look at Helen, but 
said nothing more. They had never known 
Helen Fortescue say anything or anybody was 
too much for her before. 

Beatrice came to the rescue. 

“ But she said Yes, of course'. That settles it 
all then, for the plants are ready and waiting all 
this week. You shall have them when you go 
home to-night, if you like. And now I ’m ready 
to keep my promise about the reading, if I can 
get a vote for it from the club. I have a story 
here that I ’m sure you ’ll like.” 

The vote was overwhelming, and the reading 
began; a bright, chatty story, so interesting that 
the club soon began putting in stitches that they 
didn’t really know they made, while at the same 
time there was something every now and then 
that set them off on a quick flash of thought 
nearer home. 


CHANNELS. 


395 


“ I wonder if Miss Beatrice could read, or say, 
or do anything that didn’t make you feel as if 
the Lord Jesus was the loveliest King!” thought 
Moppet, as her needle put in just the right stitch 
where a hard corner was to be turned. ‘ 1 1 
wonder if he’d be my King if I asked him? Of 
course he is that already in one way, but — ’ ’ and 
the story went on. 

The work went on with it, and everything 
else seemed forgotten, until May suddenly sprang 
lip with a start. Every one looked up, and the 
reading stopped. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to say anything, I didn’t 
mean to do anything!” she exclaimed, covered 
with confusion. ‘ ‘ Only, I remembered all at 
once that Miss Beatrice would be perfectly tired 
out.” 

The club remembered it too, with sudden 
shame. 

“We’re too thoughtless for anything!” ex- 
claimed Fanny, really concerned. Was not she, 
in one sense, head of this set of girls, and ought 
not she to think for them, if they could not think 
for themselves? 

Beatrice laughed, and said she believed she 
was a little tired, but that she should never have 
found it out if they had not told her; and then 
some one began to talk about the reading in a 


396 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

great hurry, and they all ran off into a chatter to- 
gether by way of taking matters upon them- 
selves. 

“ I think the story is just fascinating,” began 
Moppet; “but the nicer it is, the more I feel the 
one little pinch of regret that always comes. If 
it were only true! Why can’t stories be true? 
You always get so interested, and every one 
seems so real and delightful, and suddenly you 
start up and remember that there never were any 
such people at all ! I should like to hear one 
good story that I knew was real !” 

The club laughed. 

“Aren’t you borrowing trouble, Mop?” ask- 
ed Bee. ‘ ‘ I can lend you a whole shelf-full 
of histories if you’ll come home with me, and 
there are fifty things in the newspapers every 
day. ’ ’ 

“Yes, but the people in histories have been 
dead and gone for ages, and the newspapers are 
only ‘accidents or incidents.’ Don’t be ridicu- 
lous, Bee. You know it’s hardly ever you can 
hear a real interesting, rousing-up story that you 
know is true. ’ ’ 

“Suppose we have one now and then, if 
you’re not going to let me finish mine,” said 
Beatrice. ‘ ‘ I have one in my desk that came in 
fresh as this morning’s mail could bring it, and 


CHANNELS. 


397 


every word as true as the day. And I wont even 
ask to read it myself; any one of you may do it 
that likes.” 

The proposal was received with acclamation, 
and the letter was soon found. It was from a 
schoolmate of Miss Marston’s teaching in a girl’s 
school on the Western frontier, and the portion 
that contained the “story” began thus: 

“You have wondered how I could be happy 
here, but you would never wonder again if you 
could see the girls I have to teach. At home 
teaching was often like trying to force good 
nourishing food upon children whose appetite 
confectionery had spoiled, but here it is the joy 
of putting into eager, outstretched hands the 
treasures they have toiled and longed and waited 
to obtain. There isn’t one of our girls who 
does n’ t drink in what we give her in a way that 
reminds me of watering my thirsty flower-pots at 
home. How I used to love to do it, and to see 
the poor little rootlets seize every drop, and the 
whole plant freshen and revive and open its 
buds and look as if it felt happy and rich again ! 
That is the way with our girls, only that the 
poor little plants could only wait meekly for 
what I brought, but a good many of our girls 
have worked, and worked bravely and like a 
real sto^-book, for the money that keeps them 


398 the good-times girls. 

here. (You’d laugh, too, if you knew how lit- 
tle that money really is ! It looks like a pretty 
big pile out here, though, I assure you. All 
those things are ‘according to,’ as the New- 
Englanders say, you know.) There is one girl 
among the rest that would go to your heart, I 
know; she is seventeen }^ears old, tall and well- 
formed, with beautiful brown eyes and glossy 
chestnut hair, not handsome otherwise, but with 
one of those faces where you don’t care a six- 
pence whether it is handsome or not. The look 
in it makes it beautiful without any help. 

“And that look did not come there without 
something in the soul and life behind, to give it, 
you may be sure. Her father is one of those he- 
roes among all self-sacrificing men, a home mis- 
sionary, and for twenty years he has worked on 
the Western frontier, not for money, but for pure 
love, and moving off to a new place that needed 
him more as soon as the old one needed him less 
and could pay him better. Now he is just ten 
miles from us, and fighting manfully to put some 
idea of what a Christian soul is into a camp of 
rough miners, and a sprinkling of a congregation 
that knew what he has to teach them once, but 
have forgotten it in the rough scramble for new 
homes and fortunes. Her mother stood at his 
side with the soul of a heroine but the strength of 


CHANNELS. 


399 


a fading flower. The rough winds were too 
many for her, and they lost her two . years ago. 
Since then Ruthie has stood in the forefront. 
She has had full charge of the house — and that 
means housework — and of three younger chil- 
dren, and sewed and nursed and made sunshine 
for all the family, and visited the sick, and made 
friends among the miners, who would kiss the 
ground she walks on. How do you suppose the 
child has managed to keep up study with all this? 
She has done it, and with the determination to be 
a teacher as soon as the next sister could take her 
place at home. 

‘ ‘ If she could teach ! That would mean bring- 
ing comfort and plenty into the home. That 
would mean new shoes for the children when the 
old ones wore out, and sugar in her father’s tea, 
and his newspaper that had been given up when 
they came to the last place, with the salary 
smaller than ever before. And it would mean 
warm underclothes when winter came, and a 
bright bit of fire on the hearth, and a bit of hot 
supper for her father when he came in, cold and. 
tired, after a late call over the hills. And, possi- 
bly, but that was like dreaming, a new warm 
overcoat for him some day instead of the thin old 
one that he did not dare wear every day lest it 
come apart, and. a rug on the sitting-room floor. 


400 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Her father would be in his full prime yet, if 
he had not battled so hard; but he was beginning 
to stoop a little, and his courage did not seem 
quite as good for bitter winter nights; and he was 
so lonely — they were all so lonely since her mo- 
ther went. Oh, how she could brighten up the 
house ! How free and light-hearted they could 
all be if she could earn money too ! 

“And she knew she could do it if she could 
only have one year with us. Her father had su- 
perintended her studies, but there seemed no time 
now; and, moreover, she needed to see what a 
school really was, and how it was carried on. 
Could she do it? Yes, she would do it ! 

“Nanny, the next sister, fifteen now, was 
taken into confidence and put her little heart into 
it with all her strength. Ruthie should be a 
teacher, and the help and comfort and pride of 
the rest, and she would take Ruthie’ s place in the 
endless round of duties at home. Wasn’t she 
nearly fifteen? Wasn’t she 1 plenty old enough ’ 
to take care of the rest? 

“So together they planned and worked and 
saved, and denied themselves, if there was any- 
thing to deny, for a whole year. They took in 
sewing and mending for the miners, they picked 
berries, they braided rough hats, they did every- 
thing imaginable or possible, and kept their secret 


channels. 


401 


all the time, and at the end of the year there were 
a hundred dollars in their little locked desk that 
had been their mother’s once. 

u What would that mother have thought, 
when she left the delicate home at the East where 
she had been cherished through a light-hearted 
girlhood, if a vision of what her daughters would 
find life had come to her then? 

“But Ruthie and Nanny thought themselves 
the happiest girls in the world, and the proudest 
too, when the hundred dollars were earned, and 
Ruthie had been to the authorities and got the 
promise of the school for the next year, provided 
this one were spent with us, and then had told 
her father. Ruthie told me all about it ; how he 
looked wonderingly at her first, as if he did not 
comprehend, and then broke into a sob and went 
away, and then came back and stroked her face 
softly and held her on his knee. Then he repeat- 
ed the text that promises any one who leaves 
friends and home for Christ’s sake ‘a hundred- 
fold in this life. ’ 

“‘He is a faithful Master, Ruthie,’ he said, 

1 and it is more than a hundred-fold to have such 
children as you !’ 

“So it was all settled. If Ruthie only stayed 
with us for the school week and went home Sat- 
urdays, the hundred dollars would do — we did not 

Good-Times Girls. 2 (3 


403 the good-times girds. 

let lier know* it was less than any one else paid — 
and she appeared on the first Monday morning, 
radiant and proud. She had walked the ten 
miles, all but a lift in a wagon, and should expect 
almost always to do the same. 

“She brought the first quarter’s payment with 
her, and all has been happiness untold until last 
week. Then came news that the storekeeper of 
the mining village had decamped, and taken all 
he could lay hands on with him. 

“Ruthie turned white when she heard it, and 
went swiftly out of the room. I followed and 
found out what was the matter. The storekeeper 
had offered Ruthie a high interest on her money, 
for six months, and it was gone with the rest ! 

“She has been home once since, and how do 
you suppose the child kept the secret for those 
two days? She did it, but it was too much for 
even a brave heart like hers. When she came 
back she gave me a stony, white little smile, and 
was passing by. Then she turned suddenly and 
threw herself on my neck with a wild tempest of 
giving way. 

“ ‘I haven’t told father or Nanny yet,’ she 
said, ‘for I thought possibly he would come back. 
He couldn’t be so wicked as to take it all ! At 
home they think I did n’t give it to him. Father 
told me to do as I liked, and I thouglij; I would 


CHANNELS. 


403 


bring it all to you, but at the last moment I 
changed my mind. But if I can find where he is 
and write and beg him, surely he will send my 
little bit back ! What will it be to him, such a 
little bit? And I could never do it again. I 
could not do it alone, and I could never let Nan- 
ny work so hard again. There were too many 
nights of sitting up, and too many broken-down 
days. Nanny must never have any more of that. 
But surely, surely it will come right ! He can 
never keep it ! He knows what it is to me !’ 

“Yes, he knows, but he cares about as much 
as the tempest cares for the cry of the lamb when 
it has swept shelter and food away and leaves it 
to the storm. ’ ’ 


404 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

FAMOUS PLANS. 

The letter was finished and laid down, and 
the club looked up. 

“Well, Mop, how do you like stories from 
real life now?” asked Bee. 

“ It ’s a shame ! It ’s an awful shame !” cried 
Moppet excitedly. “ Do you suppose there really 
are such wicked people in the world ? I feel as 
if I ’d always known Ruthie. I can see just how 
she looks and just how Nanny will look when she 
knows. What can we do ?” 

“We!” echoed the club in chorus. “We! 
Are you wandering in your little mind, Mop ?’ ’ 

A single voice suddenly caught their attention 
and hushed the din. It was Barbie, quiet and 
unmoved as ever to all appearance, but with 
something underneath that was all the stronger 
for being still. 

“I do n’ t think she is wandering, ’ ’ she said. 
“I don’t see why we couldn’t do it. Seventy- 
five dollars is not such an enormous sum to get 
together in three-quarters of a year. It is not as 
if we could n’t have time.” 


FAMOUS PLANS. 


405 

Silence again. The club was feeling a quick 
reaction of sentiment that did not seem to leave 
room for remarks. 

At last Bee started up, with her little tow-col- 
ored locks falling every way but the right one in 
her stir. 

“ I did hear once of a set of girls that paid a 
whole hundred a year to carry another girl through 
school. But that was a missionary society, and 
she lived in Persia and wore Turkish trousers, 
and it was different, of course. I envied them ; I 
thought it was such a lovely thing to do. But 
I always thought of the Turkish dress. That 
helped a little, perhaps.” 

Poor Bee! A corner was no refuge at all from 
the chorus that this speech brought upon her 
head; but when it had subsided it was plain that 
she and Barbie together had made their mark. 

“Can we do it?” was the cry now, and half a 
dozen others followed in its train. Was there ever 
a lovelier thing to do, if they could only do it? 
What would Ruthie say, and Nanny and the rest? 
And why would it not be missionary work ? Of 
course it would; wasn’t her father just as much a 
missionary as any one else? But what if they 
should undertake it, and then fail ? That would 
be almost as bad as the storekeeper himself. 

“Suppose I indorse for you, then,” laughed 


406 the good-times girls. 

Beatrice. ‘ ‘ I think you can do it ; I should feel 
that your paper was quite safe, but caution is 
never out of place. If you decide that you would 
like to try, you can send your promise as soon as 
you like, and then if any trouble should come, it 
will be time to let me have my share in all this 
‘good time’ of yours. In fact I think it a little 
hard for me to stand just outside as I do.” 

Stand outside ! As if she were not head and 
front and centre of the whole thing! And, more- 
over, a quick suspicion flashed through the mind 
of at least one member of the club that Miss Bea- 
trice would have liked to do it all, and would 
have done it all, if she had not given up the pleas- 
ure to them. 

It was all settled, then. They would try at 
least, and they could try without any worry, only 
they would be just as determined for all that. 
And some one who had heard of the club had 
asked already if she could get a piece of Barbie’s 
embroidery done for her in it; and if one person 
wanted to send in an order, why might not more? 

But who was to write the letter? Miss Bea- 
trice, of course. And then there would be an 
answer coming. Oh, what delight ! What would 
Ruthie say ? 

When Midge and Jim sat by their sunset win- 
dow that night, something stood between them 



Good-Times Girls. Page 407. 






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i 




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FAMOUS PLANS. 


407 


and the clouds that seemed to hold their eyes and 
keep them from giving anything more than quick, 
broken glances to the sky. It was a row of flower- 
pots, bright with blossoms, with whiffs of per- 
fume stealing off that made Jim start and rub his 
hand through his thick hair to be sure it was not 
a dream. Was it real air that was smelling like 
that? 

“Jim,” said Midge slowly, “it’s true what 
Miss Marston said about His coming close. Do 11’ t 
you feel it somehow, Jim? I do. I’ve knowed 
it better and better all this time, but to-night — 
it ’s gone deepest of all to-night. Do n’t you say 
so too?” 

Jim hesitated. 

“I can’t say as I’ve knowed it, Midge; but 
I ’ve thought on it a many times down in the old 
mill. It isn’t for me to get the feeling of it, 
though, like you, Midge. It’s different with 
you.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because your soul’s different. It would be 
more natural for him to come. ’ ’ 

Midge shook her head indignantly. 

“Now, Jim, it wouldn’t, I don’t believe. 
It’s natural to him to come most to them that 
need hini most, and there’s none of us can say 
how that is about another.” 


408 the. good-times girds. 

“Well, well, I meant no harm. I don’t pre- 
tend to heft those things. But I do know they 
say there’s kindness in him, and that the gos- 
pel’s to bring folks to feel the same; and it does 
look like that, I’m free to say, to see a set of 
girls, such as you say fetched them flowers, com- 
ing round with them to find you, Midge, if they 
didn’t seem to stoop to do it. They didn’t seem 
to stoop, did they, Midge?” 

Midge fired again. 

“Jim, do you think Miss Marston would send 
anybody here that would stoop? You ’d think it 
was a favor they were asking me.” 

Jim sat still and looked down at the row. A 
Bon Silene rosebud was opening pink and pearl 
petals towards him with inimitable perfume, a 
scarlet geranium burned against the yellow of the 
sky outside, and clusters of pansies massed in pur- 
ple and gold close by. 

Jim drew a long breath. 

“ I don’t know, Midge, but life would seem a 
richer thing if you could be among such as those 
all the time. Sometimes my heart sickens o’ the 
mill, with its everlasting din and beating and the 
fires. I should think he that you talk about 
might be more outside. ’ ’ 

Midge shook her head. 

“ I don’t believe it, Jim. Did n’t the blessed 


FAMOUS PLANS. 


409 

Christ know what it was to work in a shop many 
a year himself? But, Jim, when you talked about 
stooping, I think that ’s just one of his ways to 
come close without letting you feel as if he did 
that. And perhaps that’s where “The Good- 
Times Girls” got the idea, too. I shouldn’t 
wonder at all ; should you ?’ ’ 

“No,” said Jim, “I shouldn’t — not if things 
are all as they say. But I say, Midge, if all that 
there pottery is to stay here, you’ll want a shelf 
to set it on. It can’t be under foot, and it’s got 
to be fetched to the light.” 

Midge looked serious. 

“There ’s one shelf in the old cupboard that’s 
loose, Jim. Maybe I could make the others do 
without it, if you could manage to put it up.” 

“I’ll try,” said Jim. “I’m not much of a 
carpenter, but I might make out to drive a screw. 
And moreover and besides — ” Jim hesitated — 
‘ ‘ it would have a little seeming as though she 
that owned the cupboard before you, Midge, had 
some little share in the flower-pots too.” 


410 


the: good-times girds. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

WHAT MOTTO? 

The club was on the top wave when the next 
meeting came round. The scrap drawer was fill- 
ing in ; orders, or ‘ ‘ requests ’ ’ rather, were follow- 
ing fast on each other for odd pieces of fancy- 
work such as some of the girls could do ; and 
Violet’s wardrobe was coming on apace. 

“It’s really worth while to go past the Bon 
Marche now-a-days,” Daisy said, with a radiant 
face. “Such nods and smiles as a body gets.” 

“Not everybody though,” said another voice 
suggestively. 

“Well, we then. I suppose we do get rather 
more than anyone else, and it’s such fun. I 
wonder if we shall ever get tired of it. ’ ’ 

“Wait till we have somebody horridly disa- 
greeable to work for,” laughed Rose. “That 
will be the time.” 

“The time for what?” chimed in Fanny. 

Helen’s voice followed quickly. “The time 
for our motto. I wish we had one, and the one 
Miss Beatrice likes: ‘For His sake.’ If we had 
that, I ’in sure we could never get tired. At 


WHAT MOTTO? 41 1 

least, be was never tired when be was doing 
things for ours. 1 ’ 

Beatrice looked up, and their eyes met. A 
shade of happy color flushed into Helen’s cheek, 
and to Beatrice a sudden memory of that bitter 
day after the doctor’s visit came pouring in. 
How could she ever have feared there could be 
no work for her, if the doctor was right ? 

There was silence a moment. Helen had 
surprised them already once or twice, but even 
that was only by speaking when some one else 
had brought such questions up. 

But it was only for a moment. Barbie was 
answering again. 

“I wish we had one too. Can’t we decide 
now as well as any time?” 

“There ’s just one thing I want to say,” came 
in Bee with a little whir. “I can’t bear any- 
thing like a hypocrite, and I’m sure our ‘good 
times’ are partly for our own sakes, and partly 
for the sake of people we have them for; and if 
we should say ‘For His sake,’ wouldn’t that be 
pretending it was all for that when it wouldn’t 
be; and I don’t really believe he’d want to 
have it if it was? He did things for people’s 
sakes. Would n’t he like to have us?” 

A general smile at Bee’s little burst was fol- 
lowed by perplexity at her questions, and then, as 


412 the good-times girds. 

was always the case when hard questions came 
up, all eyes turned to Beatrice. 

‘ ‘ Of course he would, dear. That ’s just what 
he begs us to do. But he likes the thought of 
him to have a share, as the thought of us always 
has with him. Suppose instead of ‘ For His 
sake,’ we should say ‘In His name’? How 
would you like that? That would mean that 
we remember how he toiled for suffering ones 
when he was here, and that we want to follow 
in his steps. It would mean that we remember 
how his heart yearns over them now that he is 
away, and that we want to copy the sweetness 
into ours a little bit as we can. And it would 
mean that he was the first one to teach us the 
joy that there is in such work. And wouldn’t 
it mean too — I’m sure it would — that part of 
the joy was in knowing that our tiny little work 
gives delight to him? You know he says that 
whatever we do for his little ones is done for 
him — the bond is so close — and he has done so 
much for us.” 

A little murmur running through the room 
showed that the right thing had been found. 

“I like that,” said Bee emphatically, and 
there was no need of taking a vote. It was 
settled. “In His name” was the motto of the 
club. 


WHAT MOTTO? 


413 


The needles flew faster than ever, for two or 
three pieces of Violet’s outfit were really needed 
now, and were “promised for Saturday night 
without fail.” 

‘ 1 Dainty is the only member of the club that 
has honors without work, ’ ’ Helen laughed as she 
glanced at him through the window, fast to the 
post outside. ‘ ‘ He ought n’ t to have such a lazy 
brandish to his tail, while we’re so busy, if he 
does intend to take the work home to-night. I 
must make him give Myrtle another ride when 
Monday comes.” 

“I wish that one window of Myrtle’s wasn’t 
so ugly,” said Rose, with a little pucker in her 
face. 

“So do I,” echoed Helen, “but she says it 
only makes the inside of the room better still. 
But I’ll tell you where the windows are worse, 
and I don’t believe there’s a pleasant thing in- 
side, and that’s that horrid, horrid desolate poor- 
house. I went by there this morning, and I did 
not get over it till I came here. It’s queer I 
never thought of it before, one way and another, 
but it gave me a fearfully dreary feeling to-day. 
I wonder if there are many forlorn, pitiful old 
souls shut up inside.” 

“And they must feel so terribly ‘shut up,’ 
too,” said Moppet. “It’s so far out. They 


414 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

can’t get to church or anywhere else, I should 
think. And whom do you think I saw there the 
other day, sitting at the window with a look as 
if he was only waiting to die?” 

‘ ‘ Who ! Who could be there that you could 
possibly know ?’ ’ 

“I’m sure it was; I couldn’t mistake. I’m 
sure it was one of the two old people that always 
sat in the red arm-chairs in the little porch on 
the Landry Road. ’ ’ 

Fanny started and gave a quick look over 
at Bab. 

“That must be it, Barbie! Don’t you re- 
member we saw them going that way, the morn- 
ing we went to Myrtle about the work ! That ’s 
where they were going, you may be sure. ’ ’ 

“What ! Not my two dear old people under 
the rose-vine!” cried Helen, looking at May 
in her turn, and remembering Squire Mountford 
and the red flag. “Oh, it can’t be! Could 
Squire Mountford have anything to do with it, 
do you believe.” 

“Squire Mountford ! It ’s you who are wan- 
dering, I should think. What could Squire 
Mountford have to do with it? But the little 
house is shut up. I saw it the other day,” said 
Daisy, as she looked for a larger spool of thread. 

“Now don’t ask ‘What can we do?’ this 


WHAT MOTTO? 


415 


time,” she went on with a little laugh, as she 
found her spool. “‘The Good-Times Girls’ 
positively cannot take the whole almshouse on 
their hands. ’ ’ 

“ But I ’ll tell you what I think perhaps they 
might do,” said Barbie quietly. 

The club gasped and made violent gestures, 
but Barbie went on. 

“If one or two of us should go out there 
once in a while — Sundays, perhaps — and read 
something bright and cheerful to the poor old 
things; it certainly wouldn’t be a hard thing to 
do, and don’t you think it would brighten the 
week a little to them ? It would be something 
to expect, and something to think of afterwards, 
at least.” 

Barbie ! Barbie ! Was there a medal any- 
where in the club that she could have for ideas ? 
But should they go? Could they go? Would 
they dare? 

Dare ! How absurd ! Who was there to be 
afraid of? And besides, if they went Barbie 
would have to lead, and following is always easy 
work. And besides, wasn’t it to the poor that 
Christ’s “cups of cold water” were mostly given 
when he was here ? 

“ But I say,” and it was Bee again, of course, 
“I meekly suggest that an exploring party might 


416 the good-times girls. 

go first; otherwise our twos and twos might get 
there with the best selection from modern authors 
under their arms and find nobody wanted them. 
That would be a joke.” 

That was an embarrassing suggestion certain- 
ly, but it carried its own weight. Bee was right, 
no doubt, and they might have thought of it for 
themselves; but “going to ask” had rather an 
appalling look. 

“I’ll tell you,” came in a voice suddenly; 
1 c Mrs. Rhodes must be some relation to the peo- 
ple that keep the house, for the name is the same, 
and I’m sure I’ve seen the other Mr. Rhodes, 
when I’ve driven by, and he’s the image of 
4 husband. ’ Could n’ t we get her to go over and 
inquire?” 


SISTER RHODES.” 


u 


417 


CHAPTER XE. 

“SISTER RHODES.” 

IE busy hearts and hands can make time 
swift-winged, the next two or three weeks were 
flying to “The Good-Times Girls.” Violet was 
just got fairly off their hands in the course of 
that time, her wardrobe for the season being com- 
plete, and orders were dropping in for fancy-work 
in a way that was promising or threatening, the 
club was not quite sure which; Mam’selle had 
made one or two sales already; the “pinch-off” 
purse w T as swelling, and the scrap drawer also 
receiving treasures more than one. 

All this meant work for Saturdays, at least, 
and as if Saturdays were not enough, Sunday 
had been begged for by the matron of the alms- 
house as the day on which .the reading should be 
given. 

The guess as to relationship between branches 
of the Rhodes family had proved quite correct, 
and Myrtle’s hostess had made her way out to 
the establishment in spite of distance and fa- 
tigue, spurred on by the excitement of such news 
to tell. 


Good-Titr.es Girls. 


27 


418 the good-times girts. 

“They are the curiousest set of girls I ever 
came across,” she said, as soon as she had recov- 
ered her breath and unburdened herself of the 
principal points in her tale; “I never was more 
beat than when they turned that there chamber 
of Myrtle’s into a first-class sitting-room, and 
routed my maple bedstead into the attic as if it 
was nothing more nor less than rubbish itself! 
What they wanted to do it for surpassed me, and 
how they made me want to do it was more mys- 
tery yet; but it’s the truth, they got me just as 
much taken with the idea as they were them- 
selves, and they were full! And now they’ve 
got this notion, only they felt a little shy about 
asking, and laid in with me to intercede — they’re 
as modest as they be dashy, and that ’s part of the 
curiousness, and part of what pleases me; so I 
just told ’em, says I, ‘This move is queerer than 
the first one, but I don’t ever need urging to go 
and see Sister Rhodes,’ I says, ‘and I’ll go.’ 
But what put it into the young critters’ heads, I 
don’t see.” 

“Sister Rhodes” took the corner of her apron 
and wiped an imaginary streak of dust from the 
round of a sitting-room chair. Neatness was a 
feeble expression to characterise her housekeep- 
ing views. 

“Don’t you?” she replied slowly. “Neither 


“ SISTER RHODES.” 419 

do I, of course; but it’s stranger still that some- 
thing hasn’t put it into somebody’s head long 
ago! It’s all very beautiful to feel young and 
fresh when Sunday morning comes, and put on a 
nice silk and step a little way down the street 
when the bell rings, and drink in gospel privi- 
leges at the fountain-head, and then saunter back 
with the crowd to a good dinner, and finish out 
the Sunday rest in a dressing-sack till the tea- 
bell rings again. It’s all beautiful, I say, and 
good and right in all its ways, as far as its com- 
fortableness goes; that ’s Sabbatical rest. But at 
the same time I can’t see as the Sabbatical would 
be hurt a great deal if one or two out of the 
whole church should take turns now and then 
a- trying to carry a little of it to them that ’s out 
of reach. There ’s hearts under this roof that’s 
just as open to comfort as if it didn’t belong to 
the town, and wanting gospel as much; but the 
town and all knows they ’re too near their jour- 
ney’s end, most of ’em, to take the tramp it is 
from here to any open sanctuary. And it’s a 
lonely day to ’em and a long one, and a day 
they seem possessed to just sit and talk and talk 
about the times that has been. If somebody 
should come and point ’em to the things that 
shall be instead; if somebody should be took with 
the spirit of Christ enough to think of it, or come 


420 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


and do it — why, as I was saying, it’s only a 
wonder the comfort there ’d be in it hadn’t en- 
tered their minds before leaving a set of chil- 
dren like them you tell of to take the idea be- 
fore ’em.” 

“Well, then, I suppose they’ll be welcome 
whenever they come; and I could have told them 
so first off; but I knew they’d never be satisfied, 
and I wanted to make out a little visit with you 
besides.” 

“Welcome ! I don’t call myself a saint, nor 
as close a proximity to one as it might be better 
if I did, but I’m free to say there couldn’t be a 
pleasinger proposition made to me than the pleas- 
ure and satisfaction those poor old souls will get, 
if the thing is really carried out and held by, and 
they have it to look forward to and reflect upon 
besides. ’ ’ 

So there seemed no room for further hesita- 
tion; modesty was fairly crowded out, and what 
to read and what to do, and who the first two 
should be to go seemed to be the only questions 
left. 

Half of the last question seemed to settle it- 
self at once. Barbie must be one of the two, 
once and always; the rest would take turns in 
serving as companion and aid, but in no other 
character, at least for a while. It was Barbie’s 


SISTER RHODES.” 


u 


421 


proposal, and Barbie should keep at the front, for 
the present at least. 

u But what shall we read?” was the next cry. 
“ They don’t want sermons, and novels wont do, 
of course, nor the newspaper, and a long story- 
book is too long, and what is there left?” 

“Short story-books,” laughed Barbie. “I 
see quantities of them floating about every day. 
There are newspapers that are good for Sun- 
day, you know, and I see hundreds of lovely 
things in them; little scraps that are interesting, 
and give some nice bright thoughts, and dear 
sweet verses, and stories that are true enough to 
suit Bee, and others that are not, perfect hosts of 
things; and then ten to one the papers are torn 
up or thrown away, and it’s all lost. You don’t 
notice, perhaps; but if you’ll keep watch this 
week, I’m sure you’ll be surprised to see how 
much there is; and I’m sure you’ll come across 
something that will be just the right thing for 
our reading when Sunday comes.” 

“But what shall we do when we do find it?” 
asked Bee. ‘ ‘ It would be distressing after that 
to see them burned up; but if we should gather 
them all up and pour them out on those, poor 
souls out there they’d never breathe again.” 

Barbie laughed. 

“Couldn’t we select from the selections?” 


422 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

she asked, and then a sudden idea came into 
Moppet’s head. 

“ A scrap-book ! Why can’t we have a scrap- 
book? It would be such fun to look out for 
things for it ! Somebody could look them over 
and choose the best; wouldn’t you, Miss Mars- 
ton ? And then, pop they could go into the scrap- 
book, and they ’d be ready for any one we ever 
wanted to read to, or lend to, or anything else.” 

Acclamation poured out upon Moppet for this 
suggestion, till she was fain to hide her head. 

“Where do you get your ideas, Mop?” asked 
Bee, pulling out a memorandum-book, as if she 
would take down the address. 

‘ ‘ Where shall we get the scrap-book is a more 
important question, I’m afraid. That ‘pinch-off’ 
purse will have to hold its strings pretty tight if 
Ruthie’s seventy-five dollars are to get much 
help out of its depths.” 

The club was silent. There was as much 
truth as solemnity in this. Should they make 
one of cambric as they did for the hospital pic- 
tures, or whence should it come? 

Suddenly Rose’s voice was heard. There had 
been a hurried little discussion going on in her 
own mind as to whether she had ever enjoyed a 
vase as much as the one she gave Myrtle, and 
whether, if she should give something else — 


“SISTER RHODES.” 423 

“I’ve got one that I’ve never used,” she 
said hastily; “I had it Christmas — I don’t be- 
lieve I ever shall; at least, it’s no matter — you 
could have it; I should like to have you very 
much.” 

“Rose ! Rose ! Is this our very Rose !” was 
the inward cry of the club, but outwardly there 
were only exclamations of, “How jolly! How 
very lucky!” etc., until Rose began to wonder 
if it were really herself feeling impatient to run 
and get it and see if it were just right. 

“And if we ever do get rich enough, I don’t 
see why w^e couldn’t have two,” said Fanny, 
enthusiastically; “I see such quantities of pretty 
things for children that we shouldn’t want mix- 
ed in with the rest. Could n’t we be saving some 
of those up, too? and then if we could get up an- 
other book we might have splendid times with it 
for children some time.” 


424 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XEI. 

THE ALMSHOUSE SITTING-ROOM. 

The next afternoon was a cool and clear Oc- 
tober one, and ‘ 1 Sister Rhodes ’ ’ was busy coax- 
ing an open fire on the sitting-room hearth, and 
brushing the hearth itself with a vigor and per- 
severance that put the last particle of ashes to 
shame and to flight at once. The fire could not 
resist either; it crackled and snapped and leaped 
into yellow flames that were enough to cheer any 
soul. Outside the bluest of skies was spread 
above all the glory that October brings; garnet 
and crimson and gold were glowing all abroad, 
and the clear air came like wine into the veins. 

Into young veins, that is to say; but the old 
ones that “Sister Rhodes” had charge of seemed 
to shrink away from it a little, and like the fire 
better for their good cheer. They had gathered 
round it in a company, and were gazing first at 
its leaping flames and then at the sky and bril- 
liant trees beyond. Mysie and Rob sat a little 
by themselves, nearer to one of the windows than 
to the fire, but they were listening to what the 


THE ALMSHOUSE SITTING-ROOM. 425 

others said for all that. Mysie was so glad when 
there was some one for Rob to listen to; it was 
so hard for her to make the cheerful old speeches 
since they came there, and though they did al- 
ways keep close together and a little apart from 
the rest, they never let any want of friendliness 
be felt from that. 

“Now this is like days when I used to go 
hunting hickory-nuts when I was a boy,” began 
old Uncle Travers, the oldest of the company, 
looking through the window where Mysie sat. 
“Only there’s a wonderful difference, too; cold 
nights don’t put the color on the trees they used 
to, don’t you know that? Oh, how they used 
to burn and glimmer when the sun struck ’em in 
my day ! But it isn’t so now; it is n’t so now.” 

“No, that it isn’t, nor a many other things 
besides,” came in another voice. “Folks that 
begin the world now can’t tell much of what it 
used to be. It changes; and it don’t gain any- 
thing. It loses a wonderful sight.” 

A pale little woman, who sat next Uncle 
Travers, spoke next. 

“Maybe it loses, and maybe it’s we that 
lose,” she said. “It’s hard to believe we ’re the 
same ones that used to be what we remember 
ourselves once. But they do say there ’s a world 
where there’s no change, and what’s in it isn’t 


4^6 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRES. 

riches for one and the almshouse for the next, 
but all have their share and their desire.” 

Uncle Travers shook his head doubtfully. 

“Maybe ’t is so,” he said, “maybe 5 1 is so; 
but I never believed in anything good yet to find 
it come true. What ’s true is what ’s gone by to 
me,” and then a sudden light came into his face 
and his blue eyes kindled with a glow. 

“I’ll tell you now,” he said, with a chuckle, 
“I ’ll tell you just how it was,” and for the twen- 
tieth time he began the story of bygone days. 
The rest chimed in, only “Slow Samanthy,” 
whose recollections of the past covered but 
eighteen years, and whose present consisted in 
such daily services as she could render in the 
house, was silent. She was one of those unfor- 
tunates born with what Mrs. Rhodes character- 
ized as “small gifts,” but whom other people 
called simple-minded, and considered as having 
no place in the world. 

Samanthy sat now and listened to the chatter 
about strawberry-fields, old well-sweeps, brick 
ovens filled with all the good things that a 
prince could ask; of how many cows there were 
on the old farm, and of wedding days, and of 
comfort and plenty until some strange calamity 
or disturbance came and was the beginning of 
everything going down. Samanthy did not un- 


TH£ ALMSHOUSE SITTING-ROOM. 427 

derstand it all ; she had not seen many of these 
things, but she sat and listened with the pleas- 
ant glow she always felt at her heart when she 
could watch people who seemed comfortable and 
satisfied as they talked. 

The talk went on and on; Mysie listened 
dreamily, hearing and not hearing at once, and 
Rob kept his eyes on the glowing colors outside, 
or brought them back silently to Tom’s little 
Testament that he held in his hand. But silence 
crept in again after a while; they were all old 
stories that had been told and told again, and 
the tellers began to look wearily about them for 
something else. 

But what was there to look for? The two or 
three old books that lay about the house had 
been thumbed and thumbed, but never read, for 
they were dull and without a line in them that 
could bring a smile; and as for going outside, the 
few stiff clusters of flower-stalks that had decked 
the front-yard were withered weeks ago, and the 
air was frosty and keen. 

They turned back to the fire again; that was 
comfortable, at least, but the chairs were hard 
and stiff for the most part, and the walls bare 
with the spotless whitewash that delighted Mrs. 
Rhodes’ heart. 

Uncle Travers got up and walked the room, 


428 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

for doing nothing gets to be restless work after a 
time. Suddenly he began to laugh, a low, quiet 
laugh with which he had a way of keeping him- 
self company now and then. 

“A better country?” he asked. “A better 
country; maybe there is, but what odds is that 
to folks in the almshouse. If ’twas thought we 
had souls to go there, folks would find a church 
for us, or a sermon, or a something to show us 
the way. ’ ’ 

A belated fly buzzed back and forth over the 
window-pane, and all turned eagerly to watch 
him, except Mysie and Rob ; Mysie did not seem 
to watch anything, and Rob was smiling at some- 
thing he saw in his book. 

Mysie peeped over his shoulder and read: 

“For our light affliction, which endureth for 
a moment — ” 

She drew back suddenly. 

“Na, na!” she whispered to herself; “it’s 
no light ! Not if an angel from heaven telt me, 
it’s no light !” 

But at that moment the bustle of Mrs. Rhodes’ 
step was heard, and she came in radiant, seizing 
upon the hearth-broom for one more vigorous 
sweep. 

“Now,” she exclaimed, as a recreant cinder 
was brushed flying into its place, ‘ ‘ now listen to 


THE ALMSHOUSE SITTING-ROOM. 429 

the surprise I’ve come in to unfold! I’ve kept 
it as a surprise this time, but for days to come 
you can keep it as a thing to look forward to, as 
you may say! And you’ll think it a strange 
thing too, though maybe it’s stranger yet never 
to have come to pass; but there’s a company of 
young people been thinking of you all out here, 
and wanting to bring in a little comfort and rec- 
reation, as you may say ;’ ’ and Mrs. Rhodes pro- 
ceeded to make what was to be expected perfectly 
clear. 

By this time the hearth was faultless again, 
and she had already caught sight of two figures, 
full of young life and motion, coming round the 
last corner, and just in sight. She vanished to- 
wards the front-door to be ready for them, and left 
her astonished audience to themselves. 

A low murmur ran round the room, and 
glances of amazement seemed to take the place of 
w r ords. One or two got up and hurried nearer the 
window, and Uncle Travers put his hand hastily 
to his chin, and gave one quick look at the stair- 
way leading to his room, and then at the approach- 
ing figures now near at hand. It was too late ! 
The rough white growth would have to stay where 
it was ; there was no time for shaving now. 

Mysie leaned over R.ob’s shoulder and looked 
into his face. 


430 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Do ye no see it’s as I telt ye?” she whis- 
pered, with one of her old smiles. “It’s no sae 
bad a place after all. There’s sure to be some 
comfort. There ’s always sure to be that !” 

They were on the doorstep now, Barbie and 
Helen, glowing and fresh with their walk, never 
prettier, and hiding most successfully whatever 
shyness they felt. Mrs. Rhodes welcomed them 
with one little set speech that she had been all 
the week preparing to her mind, and ushered 
them upon their audience without further ado. 

One quick glance of Barbie’s showed that 
hands were all ready to be held out, and she 
passed round the circle, giving her own with a 
frank sweetness that captured slaves as she went. 

“If I ’d ’a’ knowed you was a-coming, I ’d ’a’ 
shaved me,” said Uncle Travers, covered with 
confusion, as he held out his ; such visions of 
youth and beauty seemed like visitors from an- 
other world. What was there fit for them to see 
there? 

“ Oh, don’t speak of it !” said Barbie. “We 
shall be so pleased if you care for anything w r e 
can do. ’ ’ And Helen was going up to Mysie and 
Rob with an impulse that she could not resist. 

“I’m sure I know you both,” she said. “ I 
have seen you so often in the little porch. I 
hated to see the chairs taken away, but I’m so 


THE AEMSHOUSE SITTING-ROOM. 431 

glad of a chance to be friends !” and she held out 
her hand with a grace that was as resistless as it 
was unconscious to herself. She was only think- 
ing of them, and that was the very charm. 

Rob gave his poor knotted one in return. 
She took it gently, and then gave Mysie’s a quick 
clasp, with a smile that flashed down into Mysie’s 
heart with a strange, sudden warmth. 

It was only an instant, and she turned hastily 
away again. 

“Oh, what a blunderer I am!” she was say- 
ing to herself. “I ought never to have said a 
word about old times, or the house. But I have 
thought so much about them since I heard it all ! 
It’s only Barbie that always says the right 
thing.” 


432 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XEII. 

AN ACCIDENT IN THE MILLS. 

October had passed, and November was well 
on its way. Everything had gone on well with 
the club; almost too well, they sometimes laugh- 
ingly declared, for disappointments must come in 
here and there, and so far the only tears that had 
been shed were when a letter came from Ruthie 
herself. That was too much ! The pleasure in 
Myrtle’s room, and the good times with Mam’- 
selle and Violet almost went into the shade ; but 
one handkerchief after another came suddenly 
out, wanted for some mysterious reason that “The 
Good-Times Girls” couldn’t really understand, 
themselves. 

“And I hadn’t told father or Nanny,” Ruthie 
wrote. “I hadn’t told them yet, but I knew I 
must tell them when I went home that very 
night. I did tell them, after that, and we all 
cried together; but not for grief! It was for joy, 
that time, and for wonder that you could think of 
me, and that the dear Eord, who always thinks of 
us, had found such a way. And it was for him 
that you did it partly, I am sure; and I know he 
is glad.” 


AN ACCIDENT IN THE MILXS. 4 33 

Down at the foundry all was going on 
well. Marston of the Mills had seemed strangely 
thoughtful of the hands of late, and plans had 
been quietly carried out, here and there, that had 
made the work easier in one place, or more cheer- 
ful in another, or taken away an old grievance, 
real or imaginary, somewhere else. 

“The master’s getting tender-hearted in his 
old age,” said Jim’s big friend Ben, one day. 

“Nobody ever called him hard-hearted, as I 
ever heard,” responded Jim. 

“No, nor had a right to; but half way be- 
tween the two does nobody any good. They say 
it’s the hurt to Miss Beatrice that’s melted him 
down. ’ ’ 

“Then he’ll harden again some, most like, 
for she ’s doing wonderful well, by what the doc- 
tors say. I heard the foreman telling how it was. 
She’ll get round, after all, some day, if they’re 
not out of their reckoning for the second time.” 

“ And what do you think he ’ll do then? Go 
travelling t’ other side o’ the world ! Leastways, 
they say he ’s planning for it.” 

Jim was silent a moment, and gave one or 
two mighty blows before he spoke. 

“I ’m glad on ’t !” he said. “If there ’s folks 
that can give holidays to them they set most by, 
and see ’em enjoy it, I’m glad.” 

28 


Good-Times Girls. 


434 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

Ben looked curiously at him out of the corner 
of his eye. 

“There’s a good many of us that can’t,” he 
said. ‘ ‘ When the master goes, . the hands stay at 
work all the same. ’ ’ 

“Well, our work’s paid for,” responded Jim 
sturdily. “And we’re not slaves. We can 
throw up, the first day we can better ourselves. 
I’d do it to-day if I saw work that’ d be steady 
and keep me nearer that little ’un o’ mine. I ’m 
tired o’ the moil o’ the works, and I ’d like to be 
with her noontimes if I could.” 

Marston of the Mills sat in his counting-room 
talking quietly with the famous doctor, who had 
come up once more to confirm Dr. Parker in his 
opinion that Miss Marston’ s improvement was 
equalling their utmost hopes. 

“ I believe you ’ll get that European trip yet, 
by the end of the year, ’ ’ the doctor had said heart- 
ily, and then, as there was a little time to spare 
before the train, they had looked over the quietest 
part of the works together, and returned to the 
counting-room for the few moments still left. 

‘ ‘ A very prosperous look and a contented set 
of men, I should say,” said the doctor, as he re- 
sumed his seat. 

“Yes, they go on steadily and well. My fore- 
man is the right man in the right place, and he 


AN ACCIDENT IN THE MIEES. 


435 


steers pretty well. We ’ve never liad a rebellion 
in the works, nor an accident, since they were 
set up. ’ ’ 

The doctor leaned forward a little in his chair 
and shot a keen glance into one of the shop-doors 
that stood open in the yard. 

“What’s going on in there?” he asked. 
“ Something must be up. The men seem to be 
funning back and forth in a strange way.” 

Mr. Marston started and came to the window. 
Yes, something must be wrong; there was a con- 
fused hurrying past the door, and a murmur of 
voices. 

He caught his hat, but a messenger, coming at 
full speed across the yard, met him at the door. 

“Is that doctor here? There has been an ac- 
cident; a belt’s broke, and a piece of shafting’s 
flew, and Jim Burlock ’s hit. He’s pretty bad, I 
expect. ’ ’ 

In another moment they were at Jim’s side. 

‘ ‘ Stand back, boys, and give the doctor a 
chance,” the foreman had said, and the men 
parted, but closed up again in their eagerness 
around their comrade where he lay. 

There was a moment’s heavy silence, and 
then the doctor’s voice was heard, hearty and 
cheerful, as if everything was just as it should 
be, and should remain so while the world stood. 


436 the good-times girls. 

That voice had been stock in trade to the doctor 
for many a year. 

“Stand away, my good fellows, please, and 
let us have the air! It ’s not so bad as it might 
be. He’s breathing yet, you see. He’ll take 
all the air you ’ 11 spare him. ’ ’ 

The crowd stood off again and looked on, till 
the doctor spoke again. 

“That’s an ugly knock in the chest, but 
he’ll weather it. This right arm of his we’ll 
have to patch up a little for him. Is his home 
far from here? We’d better get him there if 
it isn’t. He’ll know where he is before long.” 

Mr. Marston turned and gave a hurried order 
to go for Thorne and the carriage. 

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” said the doctor; 
“a wagon ’s better, if you throw a few coats into 
it. He can get an easier stretch. Is there any 
one at the house to be frightened? You ’d better 
send some one ahead, if there is, to say he’ll be 
all right.” 

“There’s Midge; there’s the little ’un,” said 
Ben, with an appealing look. Mr. Marston made 
him a sign, and he sped away. 


MIDGE and mysie. 


437 


CHAPTER XRIII. 

MIDGE AND MYSIE. 

The next few days were gloomy ones at the 
Marston Mills. No one could forget Jim. There 
was little talking, and the most of that little was 
asking for news of him, or turning over and over 
the discussion of how it happened, what had been 
done, and what was to be done as time went on. 

“That right arm’ll strike no blow for one 
six months to come,” said one of Jim’s special 
mates. “No doctor need tell me; I saw it, and 
that’s enough. And six months off work means 
something to the like of us.” 

“Yes,” answered Ben; “it means rent and 
victuals going on just the same, and wages stop- 
ping short. There ’s some of us as has tried that 
for a shorter time, and know how it works. ’ ’ 

“There ’ll be no doctor’s bill to pay, though; 
that’s one thing,” said another voice. “They 
say Marston of the Mills has ordered Parker to 
attend to Jim as if he was his own, and set it 
down to him.” 

“That’s good,” answered the first speaker; 
“and he could make up all the rest with a turn 
of his hand, and not feel it, if he liked.” 


43B THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Jim wouldn’t take it from him!” answer- 
ed Ben, turning upon him half fiercely; “nor we 
wouldn’t let him, if he would. Do you think 
we ’ll see a mate go on charity, the master’s or 
any one else’s, while we ’ ve got our own strength 
spared?” 

“Who said we would? There’s no need of 
flying out; only, if it’s we Jim’s to depend on, 
the sooner he’s told so the better. A man may 
get well faster if he knows what ground ’s under 
his feet.” 

The hint was taken, and in half an hour a 
weekly contribution, sufficient to keep all anx- 
iety away, was insured to Jim for the next six 
weeks, and longer if demand should require, 
and a messenger appointed to make him ac- 
quainted with the fact. 

After that the men breathed easier; dark col- 
ors do not hang long over strong men hard at 
work, and the mills went on cheerfully again, 
with the idea that all would come out right, and 
Jim would be in his place again before long. 

But it did not seem so to Midge. Ben’s com- 
ing in advance had spared her something, but a 
wild terror had seized her at the sight of Jim, 
and it stayed by her yet as day after day passed, 
quieter now, but heavy and cold at her heart. 

It was so strange and terrible to see Jim 


MIDGE AND MY5IE. 


439 


weak; to hear him ask her for water like a child, 
and to know that he could not lift that strong 
right arm and hand of his. And to hear him 
moan with pain ! He did not do it in the day, 
but she guessed that he set his teeth hard to 
keep it back, and at night, when he thought her 
asleep, she listened, and then she knew ! 

That made the nights very hard, but when 
daylight came things did not seem quite as ter- 
ribly bad, and at last Jim grew a little easier, 
and looked at her with a little more light in his 
eyes. 

“Was you wishing anything, Jim?” she ask- 
ed one day, as he lay gazing at her, with a wist- 
ful expression in his face. 

“Yes; I was thinking of those songs of yours. 
Can’t you sing two or three? They’d pass the 
time. There ’s one you went over, the night af- 
ter we’d stood at Marston’s gate and seen him 
and his daughter ride off. ’ ’ 

“Jerusalem, my happy home?” asked Midge. 

Jim nodded, and Midge began. Her voice 
quavered a little at first, but when she got to 
“ Thy turrets and thy pinnacles,” 

qnd 

“ Thy gardens and thy gallant walks,” 
it gathered up again, and then she gave him an- 
other and another; and at last, just as she finish- 


.44° the good-times girds. 

ed, a fly buzzed against her mouth and Jim 
laughed, and Midge laughed, and after that it 
all never seemed quite so desperate again, and 
in the midst of it all two of 4 4 The Good-Times 
Girls” had come in, Daisy and Fanny this time; 
and Daisy was full of it that afternoon when 
the club met. 

“That Midge is the cutest little thing that 
ever lived!” she went on. “She seems like 
such a wise little woman, and such a simple 
child, all at once. How she did look at us out 
of those eyes of hers ! And she was singing 
away as if everything was all exactly right when 
we went in ; and there she had one of our flower- 
pots’ close by Jim’s pillow on a little stand, and 
another on the window-sill close by, and they 
were blossoming away for her as not one of 
mine will do for me. She looks half frightened, 
though, poor little soul, and I do believe she 
liked to have us come in.” 

“Of course she did, poor child,” said Bea- 
trice; “do go again, and the oftener the better. 
And she must not stay there herself all the time, 
either; she must get out once in a while;” and 
on Monday, when Thorne went down, as he 
had done every morning, to inquire, he had an 
additional message over the usual one he had 
brought. 


MIDGE AND MYSIE. 44 1 

“And Miss Marston says, Jim, if it’s all the 
same to you, wont the little one come up to the 
house for half an hour or so, and let me pass 
the time with you; she’s missing her visit, she 
says. ’ ’ 

Midge hesitated and looked at Jim, but he 
made her an eager sign to go, and she got the 
shawl from the chest drawer and sped away. 

“Yes, the nights were bad at first,” she was 
saying a few minutes later, as she stood pressed 
close to Beatrice’s side. “But the lilies helped.” 

“The lilies?” 

“Yes; the white lilies, you know, that you 
sent me that evening long ago. Somehow, when 
I was listening, and hearing Jim moan in the 
other room, they seemed to be standing by my 
bed, between me and him, tall and white and 
close, just as they did that night ; and they 
helped.” 

Midge started, for she felt something touch 
her forehead again. Yes, Miss Marston was giv- 
ing her another kiss ! Not a quick one, like that 
first day ; it came quickly, but it seemed to be 
holding her with a long, slow touch, and Miss 
Marston’ s beautiful hair was resting against her 
face. Midge held her breath, and a little tremor 
ran down her limbs. What a wonderful feeling 
of utter rest ! What a strange, wild little joy ! 


442 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

Would it seem like that, she wondered, if she 
ever got where 

“ Thy turrets and thy pinnacles” 

were really to be seen? 

“ And did any one else come close, little 
one?” Beatrice asked. 

Midge nodded. 

“ He keeps coming closer,” she said. “If He 
didn’t, I couldn’t have held out. Do you sup- 
pose he does it like that for all where great trou- 
ble gets a hold?” 

Was He not doing it at that moment in the 
little room where Mysie sat, her knitting-needles 
busy, just as they used to be, with a warm stock- 
ing for Rob ? It was chilly up stairs, and there 
was a good fire below, but Mysie had not thought 
of going down. Rob would be contented without 
her, for he had a book that “The Good-Times 
Girls ” had brought, and she wanted to think. 

There were some things that kept following 
each other over and over in her thoughts. She 
did not get tired of them, but she could not get 
them into place, or get any settled answer to them 
yet. 

The words Rob was so constantly repeating 
seemed to come first, “Vera pitiful, and o’ tender 
mercy. Vera pitiful, and o’ tender mercy.” 

Should she ever say that as Rob did? And 


MIDGE AND MYSIE. 


443 


those girls — those beautiful bits of lassies, fresh 
in the brightness of their young days — what 
brought them out of their way to shed a touch of 
the shining upon old hearts and weary, like 
Rob’s and hers? “Vera pitiful, and o’ tender 
mercy” they were surely. Where did they get 
it ? Did they learn it of Him ? 

“And how could they learn it of Him, if he 
were not so himsel’ ?’ ’ she .went on. ‘ ‘ Rob gath- 
ered courage once to ask how they came here, and 
one of them — the tall, still one — waited a mo- 
ment, and the pink color came up in her cheeks, 
and then she gave Rob a smile that was like sum- 
mer, and just said, ‘In His name.’ 

“And how could they do sic a thing in his 
name, if they didna know that name for tender- 
ness itsel’ ? O Mysie, Mysie lass, if thy stub- 
born heart could but let pass all it canna under- 
stan’ ! Can ye no see tender mercy now, that 
Rob sees the Sunday sic a bright day to look to, 
and to look back on, syne these lassies came?” 


444 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


CHAPTER XEIV. 

NO SECRETS. 

ThE weeks sped away, and even Christmas 
was drawing near. If “ The Good-Times Girls ” 
had been busy before, they were overflowing and 
flooded now. Home doings for the season, of 
course, had their own claim, and doings for the 
club grew and multiplied and pressed in on every 
side. The recess from school was the one respite 
that seemed to make all the rest possible ; and so 
all went gayly on, though “all” really seemed to 
mean a little of everything just then. Orders for 
work counted higher and higher, and one plan 
after another came up that had use for the pay- 
ments almost as fast as they came in. “The 
Good-Times Girls” stood bewildered, sometimes, 
that so many delightful things could ‘ ‘ turn up. ’ ’ 

“Only, that we never found it out before is 
the mystery, after all,” Helen exclaimed at last, 
with a gesture as if mysteries might as well be 
given up. 

The scrap drawer had gathered treasures until 
the bright idea had risen up to send a package 
out to Ruthie, Nanny, and the rest; a whole year 


NO SECRETS. 


445 


of “Scribner’s Monthlies” and a whole year of 
“St. Nicholas” being included in the contents. 
Why did n’ t old magazines always find such ways 
of disposing of themselves ? 

Then the supplies for the children’s scrap- 
book had poured in until there were enough for 
two or three, and there was no question where 
they were to go. Two or three little letters, 
printed or written by tiny, weak fingers, had 
come back from the hospital after the pictures 
went down, and there was no resisting the delight 
and the thanks that they brought. 

There were too many other things on the car- 
pet to tell. Every one had thought of something, 
or of half a dozen things, and a way seemed to be 
found somewhere for each to be carried out. A 
package was going out to the almshouse, and 
there was to be something in it, mysteriously 
enough, to meet the pet desire of every heart; 
and, moreover, Mrs. Rhodes had caught the in- 
spiration, and her plans were already made. 

“That there package wont be opened by just 
an ordinary cut of a knife through the strings, 
and the recipients standing by to look on while 
it ’s done ! There ’ll be something like a Christ- 
mas tree in this house for once, and refreshments 
passed round afterwards in the same style as some 
other folks have ! You ’ll see !” 


446 the good-times girds. 

The Bon Marche was to be remembered too, 
and as for Myrtle’s room, one of the loveliest pic- 
tures on the walls of Miss Beatrice’s room was to 
come down and be mysteriously transferred ; and 
“The Good-Times Girls” had caught the idea, 
and various vases and decorations were to follow 
after and find a new owner for themselves. 

u If it only was n’t for that one ugly window!” 
said Bee disconsolately one day. “There’s no 
putting any fancy coloring on that.” 

“Why not?” asked Barbie, with her most 
statuesque look. 

Bee returned it with another that could be de- 
scribed by almost any other word. 

‘ 4 Why not ?’ ’ she echoed. 

“Yes, how would you like stained glass, for 
instance? That is pleasant to look at, and shuts 
out whatever is not. ’ ’ 

Bee got up and came close, with an anxious 
peering into Barbie’s face. 

“Do you think she is wandering?” she whis- 
pered, turning to the other girls. 

Barbie laughed. 

“Oh, it’s not expensive,” she said. “Just 
get a pretty pattern somewhere — you can find just 
the thing sometimes in a piece of wall paper — and 
then just take the sash out, pin the paper behind, 
lay it down, and paint over the pattern in water- 


NO SECRETS. 


447 


colors, if you haven’t oils. Then take away the 
paper and put your window up to the light again, 
and you’d hardly know it. And it wouldn’t 
take long. You ’d only do the lower half of the 
window, I think. An afternoon would be enough 
with two of us at work. ’ ’ 

Prolonged acclamation declared this to be the 
crowning suggestion of all, and the plan was soon 
made. Myrtle was to be inveigled out on Christ- 
mas day, if possible, and the stained glass invei- 
gled in, as Bee chose to say. 

And Jim ? And Midge ? 

Jim had been doing “famously,” as Midge 
called it, but was a strange-looking “Jim,” for 
all that. The big brown face had paled till it 
looked like a ghost beside Midge; and his arm 
and hand ! They were an arm and hand, to be 
sure, and well and whole, and the bones as big as 
ever; but somehow they did not look as if they 
would ever swing a hammer again. 

“And I don’t believe they ever will,” said 
Bee, with a mournful look that did not seem to 
be at home on her droll little face. “And I 
don’t believe Dr. Parker thinks so either. Some 
one said he didn’t. Hasn’t he told you, Miss 
Beatrice ?’ ’ 

“Doctors don’t always tell what they think, 
dear. And they’re not always right when they 


448 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

do. But I’m afraid it will be a long time before 
Jim gets back to the mills, if he ever does.” 

“Ever!” echoed Bee. “But what will he 
do in the meantime ?’ ’ 

“That is the very question that is troubling 
him, and poor little Midge with him, of course; 
for they can’t keep secrets from each other very 
well.” 

They could not, and Midge could not keep 
them from Beatrice, or Beatrice from the club, 
and so it all came out. Midge had guessed most 
of it alone, with her quick womanly thoughts, 
but neither of them said a word, and at last Jim 
was well enough to get back to the old place in 
the window and w’atch for the sunset as if old 
times had come back once more. 

* “It’s as if nothing had happened at all, is n’t 
it, Jim?” said Midge, quite in a glow. “As if 
we ’d gone right along.” 

“ Not j ust, Midge, ’ ’ answered Jim. “ There ’ s 
a little difference.” 

Midge looked at him anxiously. There had 
been a dull feeling of weight under the glow, 
all the time, and it deepened now at something 
in Jim’s tone, and she wondered if it would ever 
go away. 

‘ ‘ Y es, there is, ’ ’ she answered quietly ; 4 4 you ’ re 
paler than you was, Jim.” 


NO SECRETS. 449 

Jim was silent, and they both watched the 
clouds. 

“You’ve had a good deal of my company 
lately, Midge,” he said at last, with an attempt 
to smile; “and you’re likely to have more. I 
said two or three times, a while ago, how I’d 
like work that would give me more chance near 
you; but no work at all is a difference.” 

Midge’s brown eyes turned and looked him 
through, until he turned his own hastily back 
to the clouds. 

“Jim,” she said at last, suddenly, “do you 
expect ever to work again?” 

Jim looked towards her and then away again. 

“Why, of course, little ’un,” he said. 

Midge drew nearer to him and said, “Jim, 
it’s no use! You might just as well tell. Do 
you expect ever to go back to the mill?” 

Silence a moment, and Jim’s eyes were still 
on the clouds; but he put out a great bony hand 
and took Midge’s in his. 

“Not to the mill, little ’un,” he said. “It’ll 
have to be something else, I expect. But what 
it’ll be, or when, is harder to say.” 

Midge clasped her fingers tightly round as 
much of Jim’s hand as she could reach. 

“I knew it,” she said with a little nod. 
“And I know another thing, Jim. You might 

Good-Times Girls. 2 Q 


450 THE GOOD-TIMES. GIRLS. 

as well tell; it’s the time you’ll have to wait 
that you ’re troubled about.” 

“Yes, you’ve hit it, Midge. It’s no use, 
as you say, but I didn’t want you carrying the 
weight. You see, Midge, I didn’t mind it much 
to have the men give me a lift while I was sick, 
for we all do that for each other at such a time. 
But I’m not sick any more, I’m only mending; 
and I can’t let ’em go on. They ’ll have to stop; 
and the mending is going to take its time. ’ ’ 

“But he’ll have to let somebody help him !” 
“The Good-Times Girls” exclaimed when they 
heard; “he’ll have to, for Midge’s sake.” 

Beatrice look troubled. ‘ ‘ It will be very bit- 
ter to them if it has to come,” she said. “I be- 
lieve these people have even more feeling about 
such things than we. ’ ’ 

The club worked on silently. Troubles that 
they couldn’t help began to look very gloomy 
to them now-a-days. 

“I declare,” laughed Bee, at last, “I think 
we’d better get through here and get away, or 
Barbie will be suggesting that we can bring 
some miraculous plan to the rescue, and shoulder 
the whole thing. She’ll do it, in spite of us. 
She’s on the very brink ! Look at her. Don’t 
you see it in her face?” 

“Don’t, Bee! don’t,” begged Barbie pain- 


NO SECRETS. 451 

fully. “It’s the simplest thing in the world 
that I was thinking of.” 

Bee sprang up for one of her old-time pirou- 
ettes, and the eyes of every one turned to Bab. 

“What is it? What is it?” they cried, but 
Barbie waved them away. 

“I was only thinking about the flowers. 
Hers are blossoming beautifully, and ours are 
beginning. I thought if she had — perhaps she 
might have them all, now that we have so much 
other work — and if she could sell little bouquets. 
There’s no one to sell flowers here, and it is 
often said that there ought to be. It would be 
just the tiniest beginning, of course, but it would 
be something, and she perhaps might go on. ’ ’ 

O Barbie ! Older heads and wiser heads do n’t 
always catch as happy thoughts as you. 

Why couldn’t Midge do it? Why shouldn’t 
she do it? Of course she could. She could 
have a little place on some shop counter down 
town — in some store where everybody came — and 
her little bouquets would go off faster than she 
could put them there. 

“Only she must have more, more than all 
ours even. And she must have a better place 
for them,” said a voice. 

“She can have more, if that is all,” said 
May hastily. “ I can get more from Uncle Jack, 


452 the good-times girls. 

I know, and Thorne said he had more to spare. 
That will be all right, but where would she keep 
them all ?” 

“A bay-window,” began Bee, with a mis- 
chievous little flutter. “A bay-window would 
be nothing to the club. Its means are limitless, 
and it has no demands. Draw on the treasury, 
girls. It is naught. It is naught. ’ ’ 

“Put a y on that last word, and keep it for 
yourself, O buzzing Bee,” said Helen. “But 
if we only could i If somebody could ! And 
then next summer it could stretch into a garden ; 
and the summer hotel is always crying for flowers, 
and Jim could dig in it and do all the hard work, 
and — O Good-Times Girls, reflect. ’ ’ 

“Which could he dig in, the garden or the 
hotel?” returned Bee. “And reflection only 
shows that the bay-window is at the base of the 
whole castle, and that we can’t do it. And Jim 
wouldn’t let us if we could, would he, Miss 
Beatrice?” 

“I think,” said Beatrice gently, “that per- 
haps he would let me. One invalid learning 
what it is to wait can hardly refuse a little offer- 
ing from another; surely not when Christmas 
opens the door and brings us close. Do you think 
he could?” 


AT LAST. 


453 


CHAPTER XEV. 

AT LAST. 

Christmas came nearer, and very near. It 
was the last meeting of the club before the very 
day should come, and the work this time was 
tying Christmas wreaths as fast as all fingers 
could fly. Some were going to Myrtle’s room, 
some to the “sitting-room,” where the fire was 
larger now, and needed such constant replenish- 
ing that the care of it was made over to Uncle 
Travers, and filled him with occupation and 
pride. There were sick-rooms and weary rooms 
where still more were destined to carry bright- 
ness and good cheer, all that busiest haste could 
finish in one afternoon; and one had already been 
given to gathering the evergreens and gay red 
bittersweets that were required. Two or three 
new members had come in, and, with their help, 
enough time was to be squeezed out to wreathe 
the pulpit at the little free church where so many 
of the mill-hands went. 

‘ ‘ There shall be something besides bare walls 
to look at, at least!” “ The Good-Times Girls” 
said; “and next year there ’ll be more of us, and 


454 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


we shall have our senses more about us, and plan 
far enough ahead to make it lovely all through. 
And there’ll be flowers there every Sunday next 
summer; see if there are not !” 

Christmas was coming at the almshouse, too. 
Every one had got an inkling that the sitting- 
room would see what it had never seen before. 

u It’s seen nigh a’ most enough for me, 
though,” said Uncle Travers, with a shake of 
his head as Sunday afternoon came. “Christ- 
mas can’t be much better than seeing those 
there young creatures come in, and hearing what 
they’ve got to say. Christmas tells of the same 
One they tell of, and the same One their coming 
tells of, and what’s the odds?” 

Mysie turned her head quickly away, and 
looked through the window where Rob sat. She 
did not want any one to see her face just then. 

‘ ‘ The same One they tell of, and the same 
One their coming tells of. Ay, that was it ! 
Vera pitifu’ and o’ tender mercy, they surely 
were. Vera pitifu’ and o’ tender mercy he maun 
be who maks messengers o’ sic as them !” 

And yet ! And yet ! She must be quite 
sure, before she could take the comfort Rob had. 

“But wasna He aye doin’ the selfsame er- 
rands o’ kindness when he was here? An’ is he 
anither or the same this day?” 


AT LAST. 


455 


Some bright touches of color came round the 
corner into Mysie’s view. Barbie was coming 
once more, and May with her this time, sweet- 
faced and earnest, and gazing towards Mysie’s 
window with eyes full of eager thoughts. “The 
Good-Times Girls” had just got the whole story 
about Squire Mountford and the cottage, and 
about Tom and the other boys, and about Rob’s 
hands. Helen had got it the last Sunday, after 
the reading was over, and she had sat for a lit- 
tle while petting Mysie and Rob, and coaxing 
her way into the story about it all. 

It had brought the club the first real bitter- 
ness it had known, trouble that touched them 
to the very heart, and that they couldn’t help! 
And they had grown very fond of Mysie and 
Rob; no one could help it, they said. 

‘ ‘ And we can’ t do the very first thing about 
it!” buzzed Bee mournfully. “Barbie, there, 
will sit up and say we can buy the house back; 
and then we shall send her to an insane retreat, _ 
and go on without her, that will be all.” 

There was a bustle and stir in the sitting- 
room as the girls came in. Every one wanted 
them to come to the fire, and every one wanted 
to look at them, and every one was in a hurry to 
hear the end of the story that was begun last 
week. They had thought of it, and wondered 


456 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

over it, and guessed and guessed liow it would 
come out all this time; now they could wait no 
longer ! 

“And you shall not wait,” Barbie said, with 
one of her smiles; “we will have it this mo- 
ment. ’ ’ 

“The best story ever written yet,” was the 
verdict. Uncle Travers rubbed his hands with 
delight. Slow Samantha’s face was all aglow, 
the pale little woman’s eyes were shining, and 
Rob turned quick smiles towards Mysie to see if 
she liked it as well as he. 

Barbie had to wait for all the criticisms and 
excitement to be poured off before there was 
quiet enough for the hymns. The hymn sing- 
ing was one of the- things most of all looked for- 
ward to, the dear old tunes of long ago ; and if 
an old voice cracked or quavered here and there 
the young ones carried it along, and no one no- 
ticed or cared. 

Then came the reading of the chapter — that 
was always saved till the last. 

Mysie’ s heart was breaking down within her. 
It had been coming nearer and nearer to it day 
by day, and she had just been holding still and 
listening this afternoon, only hoping that nobody 
would look. Rob had stopped doing it since the 
story came to an end, and she had turned a little 


AT LAST. 457 

away too, so that even if he should do it he 
could not see. 

“ In all our afflictions He was afflicted.” 

Mysie caught her breath and held it with a 
strong will. She must not break down into a 
sob. No, no one must see ! 

But she had known these words were there all 
these years; why had she forgotten them? Why 
had she not remembered what they meant? 

She heard Barbie going on; her sweet, clear 
voice had such a restful sound to Mysie’ s ears. 
On still it went; Mysie heard, and yet did not 
hear; and now the chapter was finished, and Bar- 
bie was beginning again. 

“Who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes 
He became poor.” 

It was of no use! Mysie could not stay 
there any longer; she could not hear another 
word. She rose hastily but noiselessly from her 
seat; Rob did not hear her, but the next mo- 
ment the reading was finished; he turned and 
looked for her, but she was gone; she was up 
stairs and alone in their own little room, where 
she could look and do as she liked, and no one 
could listen or see. 

But she was not alone long; Rob had only 
waited uneasily till Barbie and May were gone, 
and then hurried tremulously over the stairs. 


45S THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“Mysie lass, art here?” he asked, as he push- 
ed open the door. 

“Yes, Rab ! I couldna stay there. Rab, it ’s 
a’ true! It’s a’ been true, a’ these years, but I 
wouldna say Yes ! I wouldna, Rab, wi’ my hard 
heart and my thankless one ! Vera pitifu’ and 
o’ tender mercy, He is, as you telt me a’ the 
time, and he’s e’en forced me to say it at last. 
And he made himsel’ poor for our sakes, Rab ! 
Poor ! Ay, an’ I ca’ed that the bitterest drop in 
our cup, sin’ Tom went; I said he couldna be 
pitifu’ an’ put it in — an’ he had e’en tasted it 
himsel’, for our sakes, long years ago ! 

“An’ it maks a’ easy, Rab, and a’ rich in 
my soul, now that I can say Yes! An’ it maun 
be for that he fetchit me here. I’d e’en hae sat 
still, in my stubborness and my bitterness, till I 
lay down to dee, if he hadna fetchit me here, 
and made me learn it, and learn it frae those 
sweet bairns, till I would e’en say Yes at last!” 


SILVER CUPS. 


459 


CHAPTER XL, VI. 

SILVER CUPS. 

Christmas came and went. The little 
church had its share of the wreaths, and a vase of 
flowers on the table, gathered from the club flow- 
er-pots, before they should be made over to 
Midge. And Thorne came and wrapped Jim up, 
and drove him down to hear the short morning 
service, and Midge sat close to him, feeling as if 
her heart would burst with the wonderful joys 
that had kept pouring in and piling up, day after 
day. 

The bay-window was going in, with two or 
three men at work upon it, making all haste to 
get the room closed in and warm again. It would 
not be more than a day or two now, and all would 
be done. Would it be real, or a dream? Midge 
was not quite sure she knew. 

1 1 The Good-Times Girls ’ ’ had been distracted 
that they were to make Beatrice no gift. There 
had been only one consultation on the subject, 
and that had ended quickly and decisively and 
with the agreement of all. She- would not wish 
them to spend either money or time for her just 


460 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

now; and in fact there was not a particle of either 
that they could spend, if they were to carry out 
all their plans for other gifts. 

They all saw it and knew it, and there was 
nothing to be said. 

“ But I wont bear it, for all that !” exclaimed 
Bee, starting up with her locks tumbling north, 
south, and west. “ There ’s one thing we can do 
and it wont cost a cent. We can go and sing 
under her window, Christmas eve. Nobody can 
say that wouldn’t be cheap.” 

It was cheap, and there was a growl at its 
cheapness ; but, after all, they could sing charm- 
ingly together — they knew they could ; and they 
had a new Christmas carol that put all their other 
songs into the shade. 

So that was settled, and just as Mam’selle was 
hanging Violet’s treasures at the head of her bed, 
humming a little overflow of gay song herself, and 
as “Sister Rhodes” was lighting the last candle 
of her Christmas tree, tremulous with haste to let 
her eager company in, the first clear notes of the 
carol startled Beatrice where she sat. 

“Hark !” she said, holding out her finger to’ 
her father, who sat by. 

They listened, and the song came up. Mars- 
ton of the Mills looked into Beatrice’s face. 

“It’s a strange thing,” he said to himself. 



Good-Times Girls. Pa^e 460 















ft 




* 















SILVER CUPS. 


461 

“I never saw more pleasure in the girl’s face — 
happiness, I suppose I might say — and as for 
beauty, I don’t know that there’ll be anything 
left for my European trip to do when she gets 
ready for it at last !” 

4 ‘Papa!” said Beatrice eagerly, as the song 
died away, ‘ ‘ call them in, do ! Do n’ t let them 
go. I’m all ready for them, you know. Only 
just hand me the little box from the bureau when 
they come.” 

Mr. Marston handed her the box, but skilfully 
disappeared in an instant more. He did not like 
getting mixed up in these doings of Trice’s. He 
was glad to have her enjoy them, but they were 
not exactly in his line. 

“Oh, what a delicious little Christmas gift!” 
she was saying as he went. “I can never do 
anything half so charming for you ! See, this is 
the only poor return I can make, except thanks, 
these little things that I hope you ’ll all love 
well enough to wear. ’ ’ 

The box was opened, and out came one for 
each, tiny silver cups, just large enough to wear 
on a ribbon or a watch-chain, graceful in form, 
enamelled, and with a motto at the base. 

“ Cups of cold water !” exclaimed Barbie with 
quick instinct, and all eyes looked eagerly to see 
what the motto might be. 


462 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 


Only three little words. 

u In His name.” 

The next day the grand experiment on Myr- 
tle’s window was tried, and the success was be- 
yond their brightest hopes. 

“ Stained glass is at a discount from this day 
forth !” cried Bee, clapping her hands in ecstasy. 

‘ 1 Who could ever have thought we should get an 
effect like that? Now if we were only ready to 
buy in the Dandry-Road cottage to-night, what 
would be left to desire? Nothing, would there, 
May?” 

May smiled; but Bee found herself looking at 
her and wondering why the smile did not quite 
look like May’s. 

“You are tired out,” she said. “ Your share 
of those fascinating color effects has been too 
much for you. ’ ’ 

“Oh, that was nothing,” answered May with 
a start. “I did not think of it.” 

“Then it must be my speaking of the cottage. 
Don’t worry about Mysie, May. Who knows 
but Squire Mountford will make a will and give 
it all back to her some day !” 

“Oh, she never could wait!” laughed May. 
“ I do feel dreadfully sorry about Mysie, that’s 
true; but I was n’t thinking of her more than usu- 
al, just now. I do n’ t know what you mean by it. ’ 5 


SILVER CUPS. 


463 

Bee gave her another look, more critical still. 

“ Nor I,” she said. “ That ’s just what I was 
trying to find out. ’ ’ 

“Am I a mystery?” asked May, with another 
smile that Bee shook her finger at, as even less 
like May than the first; but the next day she 
found out to more than her heart’s desire. 

May was ill, and on the day following still 
more so; and for six long weeks neither the meet- 
ings of “The Good-Times Girls,” nor the Bon 
Marche, nor the “sitting-room,” nor any other of 
her accustomed places saw poor little May. Not 
that the illness took any alarming or dangerous 
form. It was only low and slow and weary and 
wearing to the utmost; and there was only a very 
shadowy ghost of her former self left when the 
tide seemed at last to have turned, and every day 
promised now to return some crumb of vanished 
life and strength. 


464 


THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XEVII. 

THE PALACE GATES. 

Few visitors had been allowed in May’s room 
during that weak and weary time, but Uncle Jack 
would steal in now and then, declaring no one 
had a right to keep him out; and even when May 
looked at everything through dreamy, half-com- 
prehending eyes, she still found strength to won- 
der if it were really he. Teasing was forgotten 
and left far outside, and the skilfulest nursing 
came in, in its place. No one could turn a pil- 
low, and get it “just right,” as surely as Uncle 
Jack; no one could lift her so lightly and easily; 
and no one make it seem so much as if everything 
was going to be right. 

And now that the restlessness was past, and 
there was nothing to do but lie quiet in the lux- 
uriousness of getting well, May found herself 
watching for his figure to come in sight and his 
face to look in through the half-open door. 

She gave a little laugh as she caught sight of 
it one day. 

“It’s so queer!” she said, as Uncle Jack lifted 
his eyebrows with an inquiring gaze. 


THE PALACE GATES. 


465 


“What is?” he asked. 

u To have you stop being queer. It’s a great 
deal queerer than when you did n’ t use to. ’ ’ 

Uncle Jack shook his head with a deprecating 
shrug. 

“Your English is altogether too intricate for 
me. I do n’ t trace the idea, unless it may possi- 
bly be that I used to be, or used not to be, what 
you deign to call queer.” 

“Oh, you did use to be! You know that, of 
course. ’ ’ 

* ‘ Indeed ! And would you graciously indicate 
any illustration of a statement that must mean so 
much?” 

“O Uncle Jack, teasing, of course! You 
know perfectly well how dreadful you were, and 
how you ’ve given it all up since I was sick.” 

“Oh, is that it? It is quite refreshing to un- 
derstand at last,” said Uncle Jack, making his 
way in with a cheerful look. “I’m glad to be 
reminded. What is laid aside when a person is 
ill is to be taken up again, of course, when she 
begins to get well; and I ’ve just thought of some- 
thing I wish to tease you about.” 

For an instant May’s heart sank. Weakness 
may be a very luxurious feeling for lying still, 
but it is not quite the material for a fight.* 

But it was only for an instant. Weakness is 


Good-Times Girls. 


30 


466 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

a good defence, if not good for holding weapons, 
and she knew she was safe. “What is it ? I’m 
ready,” she said with a little laugh. 

“I want you to tell me something. Perhaps 
your usual obstinacy will want to refuse, but I 
shall insist.” 

“But if I can’t tell you?” said May, a little 
dismayed after all. 

“Nothing easier, and I ’m in a hurry besides. 
I have just two minutes by the watch.” 

“O Uncle Jack; what is it, then? Do make 
haste !” 

Uncle Jack came closer and stooped over her 
a little, with a look in his face that May could 
remember so well, away back through those 
dreary days when she saw, and did not seem to 
see, at the same time. Somehow that look had 
always seemed to rest her; it was so strong and 
gentle at once. 

“I want a little niece of mine, who has had a 
long, dismal pull, and wants something pleasant 
to think of now, I want her to tell me of some- 
thing, no matter what, that she would like. Now 
think hard and tell quickly. I want the very 
thing above all others that is lying in that frilly 
little head of yours as a wish. ’ ’ 

“But, Uncle Jack, you’re not a wizard, that 
you could be sure of doing whatever it might be!” 


THE PALACE GATES. 


467 

“No matter about that. Just tell me, if you 
please. You need not concern yourself about the 
doing; and be quick, if you please.” 

May looked bewildered for a moment. There 
was a wish, oh, such a wish ; but could he pos- 
sibly do anything about it if she told? 

She caught his hand in her thin little fingers 
with a sudden resolve. 

“Oh, then, Uncle Jack, if you really mean it, 
if you could — if you would — go and speak to 
Squire Mountford, and ask him — and tell him — ’ ’ 
and poor May, without the least idea of doing 
such an uncalled-for thing, burst into a flood of 
tears. 

Uncle Jack looked a little frightened. What 
were girls, especially sick girls, made of, after 
all? He was retreating in dismay, but May said 
no, he must hear what she had to say now ! 

The story did not take long; and when it was 
told, Uncle Jack seemed to forget that it was a 
sick-room at last. 

“Are you quite sure of all that, May?” he 
asked, and when he was convinced of it he started 
up and walked back and forth in a very hot way. 

“The miserable, rocky old — ” he began, and 
then hastily stopped. “I didn’t think that of 
Dick Mountford!” he began again. “I’ll see 
him, and find out what he’s thinking of. If he 


468 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRDS. 

needs to be told wliat people think of him, I’ll 
tell him that. It’s a scoundrelly piece of busi- 
ness! The law’s on his side, of course, but de- 
cency’s not. If they’ve paid him all they say 
they have, he can afford to let them have the 
place rent free for the few years they have 
left.” 

“ But do you really think you can make him, 
Uncle Jack?” 

“Make him? Of course I can. If I can’t 
shame him out of it, I ’ll buy him out ! I ’ll rent 
the little hut of him for twice what it’s worth, 
or buy it, as he likes. You can take that as 
settled and take what comfort you can out of it. 
Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

For the next few days May’s convalescence 
went on with rapid steps, for a rapturous feeling 
that something most delightful has been done 
is a wonderful medicine at such times. Uncle 
Jack had “settled it,” as he promised, and all 
was well. He had succeeded in “shaming” the 
squire to half the necessary extent, and buying 
him to the other half; or in other words, he 
offered . Rob and Mysie the cottage at half the 
rent at which it was held, and Mr. Ulewellyn 
had paid it on the spot for the coming year. 

“ Better let the old folks stay where they are 
though for a few weeks,” he said. “It’s an 


THE PALACE GATES. 


469 

ugly time of year to move. April will be plenty 
of time. You can carry them the news though 
any day you like.” 

May had to wait a few days yet before she 
could get leave, and then on a warm melting 
morning, with sunshine overhead and radiance 
overflowing within, she was bundled up and driv- 
en to the old brick house by Uncle Jack himself. 

“Sister Rhodes” came bustling to the gate, 
full of congratulations and delight. 

“If it isn’t clear refreshment now,” she said, 
“to see you up and about again. A little white 
yet, but fresh as a primrose too! It’s a hard 
thing, is sickness, especially when there don’t 
seem to be provocation in the least, as was the 
case in your case and threatens to be again in 
mine. If whitewash and painstaking can keep 
fever out of a house, there’s no excuse for its 
making its way in here; and that it has taken 
upon itself to do, as I very much fear. ’ ’ 

“ Fever? Who has it?” asked Uncle Jack. 

“The old man Travers, and the old body 
from the Landry Road — ‘ Mysie lass,’ as her good- 
man is pleased to say. They went down togeth- 
er, and if no others follow, it ’s all I can ask and 
pray. ’ ’ 

May turned a pitiful face to Uncle Jack, and 
he gathered up the reins. 


4/0 THE GOOD-TIMES GIRLS. 

“ You can’t go in to-day then,” he said un- 
easily. “ Your news will have to wait.” 

“Oh, can’t I just send it in then,” pleaded 
May. “Wouldn’t it be good medicine, Uncle 
Jack?” 

The news went in. Mysie listened with a 
bewildered look of surprise, asked to have it told 
her again, then smiled, and then shook her head. 

“The cottage, Rab?” she said. “The cot- 
tage, did they say? And would ye like to go 
back to it, and smell the flowers in the old porch 
once mair? I ’ll go wi’ ye if I can, Rab ; and it 
would be rare and blessed to see ye rejoice in it 
all. But for me, Rab, He fetchit me awa till I 
I could learn to say Yes. I wouldna learn it 
there, ye ken; and now I mistrust He’s leading 
me still farther ayont. ’ ’ 

Others mistrusted it, too, and then saw it 
plainly before many days passed. Barbie and 
Bee and the rest all saw it, and the smiles Mysie 
gave them seemed like light shining back from 
the fair city beyond. No cottage but the King’s 
palace was waiting for Mysie now. 

One morning as the red sunrise was breaking 
Rob knelt by her bedside with his hand fast hold- 
ing hers. 

“Rab!” she said hastily, “Rab mon ! I can- 
na go back to the old porch wi’ ye. I’m going 


THE PAL, ACE GATES. 471 

farther ayont. But I canna leave ye behind. 
How can I do that?” 

“Ye couldna do it. Ye’ll scarce be there 
when I ’ll press after close.” 

A smile like the morning sky itself broke 
over Mysie’s face. 

“Vera pitifu’, and o’ tender mercy, he is. 
An’ he fetchit me here that I might — ” 

The words dropped unfinished, but the smile 
remained, and when they covered Mysie’s face 
after the last look it was still there. 

Mrs. Rhodes began to look anxiously at Rob 
after that, but he only smiled in his turn. 

“It’s a’ right,” he said, and he said so still 
the next morning when the matron went to see 
why he did not come down. 

“I’ll no come any mair,” he said gently. 
“I’m pressin’ after the lassie that’s gane, as I 
telt her I would. ’ ’ 

It was not a long following. 

“He’s gone too,” “Sister Rhodes” answered, 
when Helen stopped Dainty at the gate to ask 
as Saturday evening came. “The squire can 
keep his cottage after all. There’s a richer 
Master has opened wider gates, without money 
and without price. ’ ’ 

“May,” said Uncle Jack gently, the next 
day, “you must tell me another wish. I can- 


472 the good-times girls. 

not be cheated. You must think of something 
else. ’ ’ 

“Oh, then, Uncle Jack, if it could be Midge 
and Jim ! If Jim could learn all about plants so 
that he could help, and if some plan could be 
made for Midge — a garden or whatever it ought 
to be.” 

“Very well; for your royal highness to speak 
is to be obeyed. Jim can come up here to-mor- 
row, if he’s able, and take lessons in the hot- 
house, and when the ground’s open he can con- 
tinue his education outside, and his services will 
be estimated at wages of some sort by that time 
of course. Midge must have her own garden 
though, and he mustn’t defraud her; not a weed 
must he leave in it. Her flowers will sell faster 
than they can grow when the hotel gets under 
way. And as for next winter, things grow, you 
know. What if there should be a small hot- 
house by that time, and a larger one next year? 
Midge can have lessons as well as Jim, and she 
has a wise little head, they say.” 

“O Uncle Jack, if I had had a hundred sick- 
nesses, I should be more than paid. But a hot- 
house — a real hothouse for Midge ! Do you think 
it could ever, ever be?” 













































































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